#how to deep does a stump need to be ground to grow grass

[chrisstumps05]

How deep does a stump need to be ground to grow grass?

[novelconcepts]

omg can you do a print of damie in canon just interacting with flora bc i would love that

She’s lost Flora. 

There is, Dani thinks with the forced calm of one already beginning to spiral, little cause to panic. The house is big, but it’s not that big--and Flora is a good kid. She’s not exactly prone to just wandering off. She certainly wouldn’t, say, vanish from sight and reappear somewhere unexpected, suddenly acting like she didn’t entirely remember the time in between.

That doesn’t sound like Flora at all.

She isn’t running, per se, from room to room. Running would suggest there is a problem to be handled, and if she starts thinking along those lines--if she starts obsessing about Flora’s distinctly off-putting way of gazing over her shoulder, of saying things just a little too odd to be hand-waved away, of looking at Dani as though she can see straight through her to the unease thrumming under the surface--well. That way lies nothing useful. Nothing at all.

“Have you seen Flora?” The kitchen had seemed a good bet. Here, after all, is Owen, puttering away over the ingredients for the evening’s meal, his mood somber as he uses the manor to avoid reflecting on his mother’s upcoming funeral. Here is Hannah, dutifully rearranging the china, pretending not to steal glances at Owen’s lanky frame every few seconds. That spot at the table is made for Flora, little legs hanging off the chair, brimming with questions--

But Flora isn’t there, and Owen is shaking his head. 

“Not since lunch. Lost her, have you?”

No, she almost snaps. A count of three, a long-held breath; she smiles tightly, reminding herself that this is not Owen’s fault, nor Owen’s job. The children will be your responsibility alone, after all. 

“She’s quick,” she says instead. Hannah purses her lips.

“Perhaps upstairs with Miles?”

She isn’t. Miles, bent over a book with a solemn expression, blinks up at her as though she’s dragged him by the shirt collar out of the actual wardrobe to Narnia. 

“She asked me to color--what time is it?”

“Two,” Dani says, sparing the briefest glance for her watch. He shrugs. 

“An hour ago, I think? I told her to ask Hannah.” A flash of concern crosses his face, a too-adult creasing of brow. “Was that wrong? I just wanted to finish my book--”

“It’s fine,” Dani assures him, ruffling his hair. Too-adult, his expression may be, but this is the most kid she’s seen Miles in days. The last thing she wants is to dissuade him from reading, or from the loose sprawl of his posture. 

An hour, though. In the days since coming to Bly, Dani can’t remember twenty minutes passing without Flora turning up underfoot. 

Outside, she thinks with another swell of barely-restrained panic. She’s outside. By the lake, probably, where Flora can so often be found keeping company with dolls and talismans and snatches of ethereal song. 

It isn’t exactly a reassuring thought, particularly with summer rain sluicing down the windows, scattering over the roof like pellets. A storm, it isn’t, but an eight-year-old girl has no business wandering in weather like this. 

You'd have loved it, at her age, Dani reminds herself. There’s nothing at all wrong with a little girl puddle-jumping for the sheer joy of it. Flora probably got bored, cooped up with a bunch of busy adults and her brother uninterested in playing games. She’s fine. She’s almost certainly fine.

An umbrella is waiting beside the door, still damp from Owen’s trip in before breakfast. Dani takes a breath, pops it open, steels herself for the brisk wind. 

The grounds are gray, the puddles turning the grass to a squelchy mess beneath her shoes. She keeps her head up, her eyes carefully turned away from the puddles which sit like recklessly-dropped mirrors at every turn; if she so much as glances down and spots a flash of glasses, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her composure. 

Flora is not by the lake, as it turns out. Nor the statue gardens. Nor the rose bushes. Flora is nowhere, she’s starting to think, and her mind is finally turning toward the worst--toward the depth of that lake, how easily a small girl might slip off the embankment and tumble headlong into its hungry waves without notice--when she remembers the greenhouse.

Jamie will help. The thought rises without warning, a solid patch of sunlight at the center of the storm. Jamie will help--because Jamie knows every corner of these grounds as well as her own hands. Jamie, who maybe doesn’t know Dani all that well, but didn’t seem to mind offering gentle reassurance, exchanging unexpectedly deep conversation on the couch...or Dani taking her hand in the dark. Jamie, who had said, Who the hell knew? Jamie, who had worn an expression a little like awe.

They haven’t had time to talk about it since, but even so. Even so, for Flora, Jamie is sure to--

She hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock. It feels foolish, rapping on the entry to a greenhouse like it’s Jamie’s own bedroom--but this is, she reasons, as close to Jamie’s home as she’s ever likely to get. 

“Jamie, are you...”

“Here,” her voice comes from somewhere just out of sight. Dani takes a cautious step in out of the rain, jostling the umbrella and pulling it hastily shut. Best not to invite bad luck--she’s certainly already had her share. 

“I’m looking for Flora,” she calls, feeling a bit silly. There’s so much going on in this room--plants and tables, pots and a variety of outdoor furniture draped with old blankets. Normally, Jamie is easy to spot amid the riot of greens and pinks, her hands busy coaxing seedlings to life. Today, Dani feels as though she’s tripped and fallen into a game of hide and seek. 

“Don’t have to look far,” Jamie’s voice comes again--from behind the sofa, Dani thinks. “C’mere.”

“Miss Clayton!” Flora pipes up, and Dani feels the tension leave her body in a violent rush. Her hand grips the nearest table for support, her eyes closing in relief. “Come color with us”

“Come--sorry?” She can’t have heard right. Jamie? Jamie the gardener, putting aside work and temper to waste an afternoon on crayons?

Yes--yes, that appears to be exactly what Jamie is doing. Sprawled on her stomach, still dressed in her coveralls, she’s got a blue crayon in hand and a green one tucked behind her ear. She glances up as Dani steps nearer, a smile lighting her face. 

“Kid came stumbling in out of the rain an hour ago. Expect she didn’t think to warn you in advance?”

“Sorry.” Flora offers a sheepish smile, sitting up quickly. “Are you very cross?”

“No, of course not.” Just going to need a minute to purge the image of finding you facedown in the goddamned lake, is all. “Next time, though, you’ll have to tell me you’re leaving the house alone. I need to know where you are at all times, Flora.”

She expects Jamie to scoff at this--to say, Ah, she was with me, she’s fine. Instead, Jamie stretches over to land a sharp flick on Flora’s upper arm. 

“Rude to make Poppins worry. Look, she’s gone all pink.” She looks up at Dani, grinning. “Not a bad look, if we’re in the market for honesty.”

Dani suspects pink is the lightest shade she can manage, with Jamie gazing at her that way. It’s too easy, all of a sudden, to remember an unexpectedly soft hand under her own fingers, Jamie turning reflexively at the wrist to hold her back. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Flora says, a phrase Dani is starting to think is more Flora than even perfectly splendid. “Here--I was just about to do one of you!”

Jamie gestures with the blue crayon, a silent suggestion for Dani to sit beside her. “Might as well. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon.” She lowers her voice, eyes fixed on Flora’s determined rummage through the crayon box. “Sorry about that, Poppins. Know she’s been unpredictable lately, didn’t like the idea of her stumping around in the cold. If I’d known you were worried--”

“It’s all right.” In truth, she’s glad Flora made her way out here. Growing more pleased by the moment with this development, really, as Jamie slides a blank sheet of paper in front of her and presses a purple crayon into her hand. 

“Join us. We’re doing portraiture.”

“I can see that,” Dani laughs. Jamie’s handiwork speaks of a distinct lack of care for detail--each sketch on her page is, at best, a stick figure with a single defining feature. “How does Owen hold up his head, carrying a mustache the size of his torso?”

“With minimal decorum,” Jamie says, grinning. “And she’s right, it’s your turn.”

Dani suspects she’s going less pink, more a volatile shade of maroon, with both parties squinting at her face, their papers, her face again. Flora is doing her very best work, taking several minutes just to select the closest shades of blue, yellow, pink. Jamie makes an enormous production of holding up a crayon, closing one eye, gauging proportions--and then, cheerfully, scrawling a figure identical to the other four already on the page. 

“I’m taller than Hannah?” Dani asks, unable to resist a giggle. Jamie frowns.

“Ah, you’re...standin’ on a crate.” She adds a box beneath Dani’s non-existent feet with a flourish, nodding. “There. It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve ranked you all on how much I like you. Takin’ into account, of course, certain accusations pointed my way regarding mud and shiny floorboards.” Jamie winks. Dani finds herself gripping her crayon almost hard enough to hurt. 

“You’re not drawing, Miss Clayton!” Flora observes. Dani glances away from Jamie’s smile--a difficult act only a few days ago, nearly impossible now--and clears her throat. 

“Well. Maybe just until the rain stops.”

There are, she thinks as a comfortable quiet settles over the greenhouse, infinitely worse ways to spend her afternoon. 

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Today in Tolkien - March 5th

This is an eventful day, but a simpler one than the preceding days. It’s the first moment since the Breaking of the Fellowship that we only have two groups to follow. Frodo and Sam are at the Black Gate (“The Black Gate is Closed”). Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin, and the Rohirrim, are at Isengard, and leave it late in the day; at night Pippin looks in the palantír and Gandalf rides off with him towards Minas Tirith (“The Voice of Saruman” and “The Palantír”).

And yes, this means that the end of the first half of The Two Towers happens at the same time as the third chapter of the second half. In the movies, I was annoyed at the Shelob’s Lair sequence being moved to the Return of the King movie, but when I look at the chronology I see it’s unavoidable. In a book that focuses on different people in different sections, these things can be managed; but in a movie you need some rough degree of simultaneity.

This also shows how the main events of the last two books roughly form three neat sections (each one ten days long):

1) The war against Saruman. Frodo and Sam travel to the Black Gate. Today is the end of this first section.

2) The war for Minas Tirith. Frodo and Sam travel to Cirith Ungol and enter Mordor. Frodo and Sam escape from the Tower of Cirith Ungol on the same day as the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.

3) The (fakeout) assault against Mordor. Frodo and Sam journey across Mordor to Mount Doom. Ends with the destruction of the Ring at the same time as the Battle at the Black Gate. Although this is the last section, it’s also the shortest (4 chapters: 2 for Frodo and Sam, 2 for everyone else).

So, starting with Isengard. The description of Isengard is rather Mordor-y, though less so, again evoking the idea of Saruman transforming himself into a lesser version of Sauron:

Beneath the walls of Isengard there still were acres tilled by the slaves of Saruman; but most of the valley had become a wilderness of weeds and thorns. Brambles trailed upon the ground, or clambering over bush and bank, made shaggy caves where small beasts housed. No trees grew there; but among the rank grasses could still be seen the burned and axe-hewn stumps of ancient groves.

Wormtongue arrives at Isengard in the morning and is horrified by its ruin, but Treebeard will not let him run away, and sends him to join Saruman in Orthanc. Merry and Pippin spend the rest of the morning searching the ruins for food for the Rohirrim (and finding food, drink, and pipe-weed for themselves).

Gandalf, the Rohirrim, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli arrive at Isengard a little after noon, and, to their mixed consternation and delight, find Merry and Pippin at the gates, eating, smoking, and napping. Gandalf and the Rohirrim go to meet Treebeard and have lunch, whuch Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli stay to eat and catch up with Merry and Pippin. The parley with Saruman in Orthanc - one of my absolute favourite moments in The Lord of the Rings, due to my love of dramatic dialogue, but too rxtensive to cover in detail here - takes up the rest of the afternoon.

Gandalf does not initially recognize the palantír, despite immediately regarding it as significant and as something Pippin should not touch. While they are riding away from Isengard he says, “there was some link between Isengard and Mordor, which I have not yet fathomed; how they exchanged news I am not sure, but they did so.” The groups rides some distance south of Isengard and then camps. Pippin sneaks the palantír away from Gandalf and looks in it, a Nazgûl passes overhead, and Gandalf rides off with Pippin for Minas Tirith. Shadowfax is extraordinarily fast; they pass Helm’s Deep, and reach Edoras by the end of the night.

Meanwhile, Frodo, Sam, and Gollum spend the full day at the Black Gate, watching Sauron’s armies arrive and seeing no chance for themselves to get inside the gates. Gollum offers a different way into Mordor - already planning to take them to Shelob and get the Ring, as he mostly decided on the previous day - and Frodo, after long thought, accepts.

Here we have foreshadowing both of the Ring’s hold on Frodo, and of how the story will end, in Frodo’s words to Gollum

“You swore a promise by what you call the Precious. Remember that! It will hold you to it; but it will seek a way to twist you to your own undoing. Already you are being twisted. You revealed yourself to me just now, foolishly. Give it back to Sméagol you said. Do not say that again! Do not let that thought grow in you! You will never get it back. But the desire of it may betray you to a bitter end. You will never get it back. In the last need, Sméagol, I should put on the Precious; and the Precious mastered you long ago. If I, wearing it, were to command you, you would obey, even if it were to leap from a precipice or cast yourself into the fire. And such would be my command. So have a care, Sméagol!

In the evening they set out for the southward route, and walk through most of the night, covering 8 leagues (24 miles, or 38 km). That seems like an almost unbelievable distance for them to be covering in a single night. Gollum estimates it is about 30 leagues (90 miles) from the Black Gate to the Cross-roads.

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.01

Among the Muck

09/27/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 4,835

Warnings: Language, future smut, future dub-con (because of the time period this is set in), future angst, future violence

A/N: I’ve been watching a lot of the Tudors and inspiration struck. I’ve been wanting to make a Medieval AU but this will be different to those I’ve read. These characters will still be them. Tony is still Iron Man (you’ll see how I do that), Bruce will still be Hulk, Steve and Bucky will still be super soldiers. So this falls under more Medieval Fantasy than just pure Medieval. As such, this will not be historically accurate but hopefully within the historically accurate bubble in all other aspects. This will not be a fluffy story. There will be some fluff (I love soft moments and I do them often) but there will also be some major angst. Anyway, I hope you like this first chapter. xoxo

If you would like to be tagged. Please, send me an ASK. I will not add you if you send me a private message or if you do so in the comments.

Coarse dirt is caked underneath your fingernails. Your feet squish against the wet gloop of mud. With a gasp you falter, losing your balance, and throw out your hands to catch yourself.

They sink in all the way to the elbow, stretching the muscles on the back of your thighs until they burn.

Labor is something you are familiar with, but this. This searching is exhausting.

“Are you alright, dear?” An old woman croaks, voice quaking with age.

Glancing back at her with her withered white skin, caked in grime and dried sweat, you smile.

It’s meant to be reassuring but you feel as if it’s really a grimace.

“Yes.” You answer simply, as she worries, watching you struggle.

She’d been walking along the side of the uneven dirt road when a group of teens—from the village because you’ve seen them before—rushed by on stolen horses. They avoided the lady easily but the guard chasing behind them did not.

They barreled towards the old woman and she’d had to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled.

She’d landed in this mud puddle, losing her purse in the process.

Watching it all happen, you’d dropped your pails and raced over to help her.

Grateful, she’d accepted your offer of assistance and you’d sat her on an overturned tree stump to wait while you looked for her bag.

Well, since your hands are already in, you might as well take advantage of it. You reach around freely, searching. Making small groaning noises in the back of your throat from the effort it takes to wade through the viscous muck.

“Thank you for helping me, young lady.” The old woman sighs. Probably tired.

“My name is Y/N, grandmother. Feel free to call me as such.” You tell her, peeking once again with a reassuring smile.

“Not many young people would help a fallen old woman.” She continues, as if you hadn’t interrupted.

“Then I guess there ain’t many decent young people then, is there?” You ask rhetorically.

“No.” She answers sadly. “There ain’t even much in my purse. Maybe you shouldn’t bother?”

“Nonsense, grandmother. I will find your purse and return it to you, and I beg you to keep off the roads in future. We don’t need you breaking your neck on account of the guard.” Just then your fingers make purchase, a small string of rope passes between your fingers and you grab it. “Gott’it!”

It takes a mighty tug to free the small ratty bag from the muck. You nearly lose your balance again and fall back onto your behind, but you manage to catch yourself and once you’re steady you turn and traipse back towards the old woman. By the time you reach her, you’re sweating.

“The string is still tight.” You tell her. “Your money is safe.”

You hand her the bag and she takes it, opens it—quickly wiping off as much of the mud as she can then smears it onto the grass beside her to clean her hand—then reaches in for a large silver coin.

“Here. You deserve it.” She says.

With a furrowed brow, you pull yourself out of the mud fully. You wipe your hands on your long tattered brown apron, but you know you’ll need a bath to get all he mud off. “No. I’m alright, grandmother. I don’t need payment. I’m happy to help.”

“Take it, young woman.” She shakes her fist at you, silver coin dangling between her thumb and forefinger.

You shake your head, dropping your apron before you move to her and squat down beside her. With the skirt of your woolen dress still pulled up and tucked to create a pair of makeshift pants, you take the silver coin and her dirty purse and shove the coin back into the bag.

“I said, I don’t need it. You keeping well is all the payment I require.” You draw the string closed and then reach out to shove it into the pocket of her own dark gray skirt. “Your skirt is torn here, and your bodice needs mending too. As does that shamble of a hat you’re wearing. Why don’t you get yourself a decent set of dresses with this money before winter comes instead of handing it out?”

“At my age, what does it matter what I wear when I freeze? I’m going to die sooner rather than later. New clothes would only be a waste of money.” She sasses you.

“Even so.” You put your elbows on your knees and smile at her. “It would make me much happier to know that you’ve spent the money taking care of yourself. I can’t always be here to help you when the world takes a bitter turn.”

The woman cackles. “Oh, sweet girl, you’re much too late.”

A sudden rumble pulls your gaze up towards the road. Through the tall rows of trees that make up the outlying forest, you see a distant coach and six horses riding hard and fast.

“What’s that?” The old woman asks, “Help me up.”

You get up, untying your dress so that it falls around you again to shield your legs, then help the old woman up. Keeping your hands on her elbows until she’s steady, you observe the smaller details of the approaching carriage.

“It’s a royal carriage. There’s gold and silver fixtures upon the horses' harness.” You observe.

“You can see that from here?” The old woman gasps. “I really must be old. I can’t see shite.”

She squints in the same direction that you’re staring and as the carriage gets closer, the sounds of hooves, a whip, and the call of the coachman becomes louder.

He’s dressed in a fine black tunic, a singular bright baby blue circle at the center of his chest that slowly grows out in smaller circles darkening in color until it reaches the edge of the circle. The pattern makes it look like it’s glowing. From the circle crop out several silver lines of thread that line the seams and edges of the rest of his uniform, tunic and all.

On his head he wears a hat. Simple. Nothing too exciting. No feathers at least.

“It’s the King’s carriage.” You whisper at the old woman and as the carriage grows closer, you and she drop your heads and curtsy as it passes.

“We can’t give up.” A male voice says from inside the carriage. It floats out and reaches your ears and while you try not to listen, you can’t help it. “We’ll find a girl that’s suitable if we have to search every village in my Kingdom until-wait…did you see that?”

“See what?” Another male voice says.

This one you recognize. Colonel James Rhodes. He comes into the village every few months to look over the new recruits for the king’s army.

Polite. Nice. No time for funny business though. Stern.

“That girl. Stop the carriage.” The other male voice—the king you suddenly realize—calls.

“WHOA!” The coachman says. “Whoa…”

The carriage rustles to a stop, gravel and dirt grinding against the thick reinforced wheels. The footman jumps off the back of the carriage and hurries forward pulling open the door. He saunters out with sharp movements that you observe for all of one second before you avert your gaze again, legs beginning to ache from your held curtsy.

You’ve never seen the king up close before and you did not expect him to be so young. Well, not young, but he wasn’t old. He might have been an older uncle or your father.

“This one.” He says, and you can almost feel him pointing.

You peek up at him, take in his leathered tunic, dark and supple. His sword resting at his hip, a deep blue cape with a black bear’s pelt around the collar to keep him warm as the last vestiges of summer slip into autumn. His hair is dark brown, only the slightest hint of gray along his temples.

His body is lean. His gloved finger pointed at you, just as you’d thought. His deep brown eyes watch you with curiosity, eagerness, and surprise. Happiness too. He’s excited.

His travelling crown is a golden three-inch band with very little jewels. Only about four or five red rubies are set within it and they dazzle you in the midday sun before you avert your gaze again.

“That one? Really?” The Colonel has joined the king.

“Yes. She’s the right age.” The king asserts. “Come here girly, stand before me. Here.”

He makes an X in the gravel of the road, but you can’t seem to find the strength to move. You’ve never been so nervous in your life.

Here you are, face to face with the fucking King of Malibia, and you’re covered in mud. Your hair is falling out of its braid. You’re sweating and haven’t bathed in almost a week. You look worse than you’ve ever looked in your life.

“Hey, girl, are you deaf? Did you not hear your king?” The Colonel asks, military voice hard and commanding. “His Majesty has given you and order.”

It takes you another half second to urge yourself out of your curtsy and move to the spot marked on the ground.

“Stand up straight.” The king orders.

You do.

“Head up.”

You lift your chin.

“Shoulders back. Don’t slouch.”

You push out your breasts.

“She’s perfect.” The king says.

“Your Majesty…” Colonel Rhodes begins. “…Tony, she’s a peasant. Look at her. She hasn’t bathed in almost a month.”

You glower at the Colonel, unable to help yourself. You’re not that dirty. Not a month’s worth. Jerk.

“We can easily fix that. She’s the one, Rhodey. Our search is over. Problem solved. What’s your name, girl?” The king suddenly asks, moving to stand closer to you, his hands behind his back.

You bow your head, not meeting his eyes. “M-My name is Y/N, your Majesty. At your service.”

“Do you have any family?” He asks, worried suddenly.

“No, your Majesty. I don’t have anyone.” You don’t mean to sound sad about it but not many people as you that question.

Everyone in the village knows your story so you have no reason to retell it.

This is the first time you’ve realized that you’re alone in the world. No one will miss you if you die.

“Perfect. Excellent. Magnificent. Get in the carriage.” He turns and leads the way back, disappearing into the mouth of the open door.

“P-Pardon me, your Majesty?” The shock in your voice is apparent and you find your limbs frozen and locked again.

“You heard his Majesty.” The colonel says with exasperation. “Get in the carriage.”

“B-But where are we going?”

“Will you just get in? We don’t have time for all your questions. His Majesty will explain everything on the way.” The colonel moves to you, grabs you by the elbow and drags you away from where you stand to the carriage door.

One foot up on the step in, you look to the old woman with large, terrified eyes and she’s staring at you with an utterly worried expression. She shifts from foot to foot, hand at her throat as she watches you get taken away.

Strange that she’s worried about you when she’s never shown such emotion before. Guess there are some good people in the world.

“Goodbye…” You mouth to her and she gives you a tiny wave before the colonel is pushing you into the carriage.

You find your seat on the far corner, opposite the king.

As the colonel sits down beside him then hits the roof of the carriage twice, the king can only smile.

No. It’s a smirk. A grin. A pleased one. He’s so damn happy that he’s kidnapped you.

You suddenly remember rumors about the king. Whispered secrets in taverns from drunken lips, spoken with shifting eyes and pounding hearts.

The king devoured young girls. He’d steal them away from their families and towns, trap them in his castle and have his way with them. He’d been with many. Hundreds, they say.

Is that what this is? Are you being taken to be the king’s fodder?

Too afraid to ask, you mash your lips shut and stare at your mud caked hands.

It’s dried and when you twiddle your thumbs, your skin pulls against the stiff coating of dried muck. It cracks and dusts, but you don’t dare look up, afraid you’ll get your answer in the king’s piercing gaze.

~~~~~~~~~~

You ride in silence for what feels like hours. Head down, thumbs twiddling away.

There’s a slow inhale of breath, the click of a tongue draws your eyes up.

“Do you always come silently when you’re abducted?” His Majesty asks, leaning his elbow against the small window’s ledge, fist resting against his chin.

“No, your Majesty.” You reply, somewhat meekly. “I mean…I ain’t-”

“Haven’t.” King Anthony says.

“Your Majesty?” You peer at him with confusion.

“Haven’t. It’s I haven’t. Not I ain’t. Better start speaking properly from the get-go or you’ll fall into bad habits.” He orders.

“Oh.” You lick your lips, feeling a slight bit of shame.

It’s not your fault that you’re not exactly eloquent. You’ve never been to school. Not once.

“I haven’t ever been kidnapped before, your Majesty.”

“I haven’t been kidnapped before.” He says, editing your reply. “Keep it simple. Have you been taught? Did you go to the school in the village?”

You shake your head. “Before they passed, my mother and father said that my place was at home where I could help mother take care of the house. My father was away a lot.”

“Mm.” The king nods. “And where are your parents now?”

“They’re dead, your Majesty. Sixteen years ago now.” You’d been a child when they died.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did they die in the famine?” He checks, giving your body a quick up and down almost like he was checking to see if you had been marked by death too.

“No, your Majesty.” You shake your head.

“War?” He wonders. “Accident?”

“No. The plague took my mother first, my father followed shortly after. I’ve been alone ever since.” It’s funny, you rarely ever think about it like this. Like you’re alone and orphaned.

“The plague?” His Majesty asks, confused by their deaths and you know why. “But the plague didn’t take many lives. We were well prepared for it.”

“Yes.” You nod. “My mother was the first to die. Her death raised the alarm and my father’s death came shortly after. Too quick before his Majesty’s medicines made it into the village. It happened very quickly. They didn’t suffer long.”

A peachy gloveless hand reaches out and settles over your nervous twiddling thumbs, preventing them from fidgeting.

You look up, startled by the gesture, and meet his stunningly bright brown eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The king says. “And your parents are heroes. Without them, we wouldn’t have been able to prepare as quickly as we did and the losses to my kingdom would have been much greater. Thank you.”

You don’t know why you should be thanked for losing your parents, but you understand what he’s saying.

There’s kindness in his eyes and he means nothing by it. You didn’t know that the king could be so nice, and he speaks in an offhandish tone, but there’s feeling in his expression.

“Your Majesty.” You say, thanking him for his kindness. With a look back down at his hand over yours, and because it’s what people do, you pull his hand up to your dirty lips and kiss it in gratitude.

This is your king and he’s surprisingly nice.

The colonel suddenly clears his throat and you lower his Majesty’s hand back to your lap.

He gives you one more squeeze then takes his hand back, regloving it.

“We’ve still got a few hours before we reach the castle. If you want to sleep, you should sleep. Once we arrive it will be some time before you can rest.” His Majesty says.

It takes you a while but eventually you do doze off against the side of the carriage.

When you wake up, you find that the king is also not a liar. You’re awoken by a young man, the footman from before, shaken gently who then wraps your shoulders in a long black cloak. He pulls the hood over your head and then double-checks to make sure that you are properly hidden beneath it before he leads you through a side door of a tall dark gray stone wall.

You’ve never seen the castle before, and you attempt to take in as much of it as you can while you’re led in but all you see is the cobblestone walls of the lower floors. Servant’s quarters usually, and a large parapet wall, that stands at what must be twelve feet in height. Maybe taller.

It’s too dark to make out much more than the distant illuminated windows of the upper floors then you’re weaving your way through a confusing array of twists and turns.

“Where are we going?” You ask the footman and he sighs.

“His Majesty told me to show you to your quarters and say nothing else. I’m sorry, miss. His Majesty will explain everything later.” He gives you an apologetic look.

“Where is his Majesty?” You wonder, since he can’t tell you what’s going on, clearly, maybe he’s willing to tell you about the castle?

“He and the colonel have gone to take care of some business. Queen Virginia has been waiting all day for his return. I’m sure he’s greeting her too.” The young man says.

The way he smiles makes you think that he’s right. You’ve heard that King Anthony Stark loves his queen more than any King has ever loved his Queen in the history of the kingdom. Any kingdom.

She’d been his right hand, and best friend, long before she was queen. After courting many women, his Majesty had seen the light and pursued Miss Potts until she’d given in and agreed to marry him.

Shortly after, they’d had their daughter and the Kingdom had rejoiced. With an heir to the throne, prosperity in the kingdom doubled.

“Wait,” You reach out and grab the young man’s wrist and pull him to a stop. “Are we going the right way?”

He’s leading you upstairs. It’s a small narrow staircase that winds up and up and up. The servant’s staircase but one that no doubt leads up to the nicer bedrooms upstairs.

“I am only following orders, miss. Come along. I have other things to tend to after I drop you off.” He pulls his arm from your hold and leads once more.

You follow in silence, growing more and more nervous.

Were the rumors really true? Is the king going to have his way with you? Are you going to be taken in as his mistress?

No.

Your mind flashes back to the kind look in his eyes in the carriage and his gentility with the news of your parents. You can’t link the sweet and noble king in the carriage to the rumored philandering king that those rumors paint.

He loves the Queen. Why would he stray?

The hallway you are brought out on is a surprisingly light. Gleaming limestone above a floor made of alternating black and white marble. Gilded chandeliers with flickering candlelight illuminate the darkened hallway.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” You ask in a whisper, afraid to wake up some nobility sleeping over.

“Yes, Miss. This way.”

He leads you down a second hallways, this one nicer and lined with stunning paintings of the various landscapes in the kingdom.

King Anthony must really love his homeland.

Finally, the footman stops before two large, steel reinforced oak doors. He pushes them open inside the small entryway is a chair and a decorative table, beside another set of doors that already stand open.

You move in, gawking at the light blue and white damask wallpaper. The golden vanity with a tall ornate golden mirror to match, both beside a tall four post bed with baby blue sheets, fluffy gray pillows, and a beautiful canopy made of heavy white draping. At the end of the bed is a pink chaise lounge, a soft fur blanket waiting to be draped over a shivering body.

Several candles have been lit to illuminate the large space which is big enough to fit your small home in it thrice. A floor to ceiling window has been drawn closed. There’s a desk with a letterbox for writing. Comfy chairs and a small table for card playing. Another two cushioned chairs by a big fireplace for reading.

Beside the chair is a smaller table with a plate of fruits and bread.

Your stomach growls and the pain of hunger hits you suddenly.

“This is where I leave you.” The footman says.

“Wait!” You gasp, turning to follow him into the entryway of your room. “Wait, are you sure this is where the King asked you to bring me?”

“I’m positive. Have some food. That’s why it was brought. Then wait for his Majesty to come find you.”

He gives you a quick head to toe.

“Maybe stay out of the bed until you have cleaned up? Mrs. Parson would not be happy with you if you ruined the sheets.” He gives you a smile then leaves you there, shutting the doors behind him.

At first you hover around the entrance, hesitating each time you’re tempted to go back into the large bedroom.

When you finally give in, instead of racing for the food immediately, you wander around the room looking at all of the fine furnishings and the items having been left for you.

Your favorite by far is the large wardrobe. Full of dresses and outerwear made of fine silks in every color.

When your stomach growls again, you give in and move to sit at the very edge of the chair by the small table in front of the blissfully warm fire. It crackles and dances as you munch on grapes and apples, then bite and tear into the bread. A small pitcher of wine has been set aside for you and you gulp down a small glass before pouring yourself another.

The food hits your stomach painfully. Too hungry for too long. Now that you’re filling it, your stomach stretches uncomfortably.

You put your hand on your stomach and groan, still chewing on an apple slice.

The sound of your doors opening startles you up. You set your food aside as his Majesty suddenly sneaks in and quickly shuts the second set of doors behind him.

Heart pounding, nervous, and suddenly worried that you are about to be ravished by force—well, sort of…if your king wants you, then you’ll surrender yourself to him. He’s your king!—you back up until your back hits the post of your bed.

“Were you eating?” He asks, smiling happily as he looks from your terrified form to the plate you’d just abandoned. It’s almost empty. Only a few grapes and an apple slice left.

He looks back at you and seems to realize that you’re scared. He holds his hands out to you and beckons you forward.

Because you must listen to your king, you move towards him, avoiding his gaze.

He reaches down and takes your hands, dirty as they are, then leads you to the chair you’d been sitting in again.

“Please, sit.” He urges you and once you’re seated, takes the other. “You must have lots of questions.”

You nod.

“Tell me.”

“Why am I here?” You look up at him, swallowing past the nerves loudly.

“Straight to the big one, huh?” He smiles. “Very well, we’re taking you in.”

“What?!” You ask in shock.

“Pepper—that is, Queen Virginia—and I are taking you in. We…where to start?” He wrings his hands, sits back and looks up at the ceiling. “Three months ago, the King of Broklin sent me a letter. He asked if it were reasonable, that I introduce him to my daughter. He wants to marry her as his own Queen died a year ago and he is called upon by the duty to his people to give them not only a new queen but an heir to the throne.

“Because Princess Morgana is heir to my throne, I wrote back to him and told him that I would need to discuss it with my own queen and after much deliberation, since the two kingdoms are neighboring, we decided that with their marriage and upon my death or his, we might combine our kingdoms for good.”

He smiles a little tightly, a frown you realize.

“What happened?” You wonder.

“Well, Morgana is very young but either way she has always been a woman of her own. She’s strong minded and strong willed and she wasn’t raised to expect to share her kingdom. Not only that but she has since declared that she will only marry a man whom she loves. She will not marry for political purposes and when I told the King this, he took offense.

“War hasn’t threatened our Kingdom in almost sixty years. Even if I have the means to defeat his kingdom, I would rather not have it come to that. So…against my wife’s wishes…I may have told Morgana that she will marry the King of Broklin whether she likes it or not.”

That seems…well, not reasonable but understandable considering the consequences if she shouldn’t.

“And what did the Princess say?” You ask him, leaning forward and completely invested in his retelling.

“She ran away.” He smiles at you, eyes sparkling. “She’s like her mother. A strong woman. And she gets her iron will from me.”

“She ran away?” You gasp, shocked by the Princess’s behavior.

“She did.” King Anthony nods. “And we can’t find her.”

Okay, so all of that makes sense but what exactly do you have to do with it all?

“Since I am not going to be able to marry my own daughter to the King of Broklin…I concocted a plan not to deceive him but so that we might both be happy. You will be my eldest daughter.”

“What?”

“I know it’s a crazy plan, but we’ve already begun to spread the news and I wrote to the King this morning that I have an elder daughter. One who I sent of when she was very young because she suffered from emotional problems.” He explains. “And was obviously a daughter born from an unfortunate tryst in my youth.”

“What?!” You rise to your feet, shocked beyond reason.

“A special school up north has reformed you and you are recently returned to us. And now that you are cured, we’ve welcomed you back into the castle with open arms. Since Morgana has been trained to rule our kingdom, you would make a lovely queen for his. Or…something like that. I can’t remember how I worded it exactly.”

“Emotional problems?” You demand again. “A tryst?”

King Anthony winces, but he smiles at you.

“It happens. Lots of royals have them. Both the emotional problems and the affairs. Anyway, that’s why you’re here. We need an older princess to send to the King of Broklin and you are the lucky winner.” He says, almost laughing, congratulatory as if you’ve really just won a prize. “You will be the queen of an entire kingdom. Lucky you!”

“Your Majesty-” You begin, shaking your head because you can’t be a queen! You don’t know how queens act or speak or move or think. You’re an orphan from a small village where you’ve taken to sewing to earn a few coins just to get by.

“Please?” King Anthony reaches over and takes hold of your dirty hand. “I…can’t bring myself to condemn my only daughter to a life in a loveless marriage. I married for love and I want her to be able to do the same. I’m sorry to ask this of you. It’s not fair to you either but without you, our kingdom might have to go to war.

“Lost lives can be prevented simply by your marrying the King of Broklin. Please, please do this for us. For the Kingdom. Please?” And his begging is genuine.

You. A nobody from nowhere has brought a king, your king, to his knees to beg.

“I-If I marry him, it will prevent a war?” You double check.

“Yes. You’ll be keeping the lives of the young men in our kingdom safe.” He urges.

You stare at him, wondering if you’ll really be able to pull this off. You’re going to have to work harder than you’ve ever worked before and that’s because you work with your hands when you can’t earn enough money with the sewing.

Calloused hands. Not the hands of a royal.

King Anthony massages those hands, staring at them as he waits with bated breath.

“Okay.” You relent. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry him.”

This time, King Anthony kisses your hands. Dried mud and all.

[bobateaboo]

How about Solar? :D

Aw heck yeah, I’ve been excited to talk about my boy! You can find the chapter on wattpad here if you don’t want to read it on tumblr, and there’s another chapter about him here. Requests for my characters are always open! 

note; this story takes place very early in the timeline, when Solar and Alosa are 6. tw; body horror

"Are you s-ure this is a go-od ide-a?"

"Aw, c'mon, Losa, nothing bad's gonna happen. I'll protect ya if it does."

Alosa was hesitant, but nodded. Either Solar was going with him, or he was going alone. And he did not like the idea of him going alone.

Solar grinned, opening the portal and giving his cousin an exaggerated bow. "Ladies first~"

Alosa snorted, pushing him through and walking in.

This was a bad idea. They both knew it, deep down. But they had to know. This had been meant to be "their" Au, right? The place where Dream and Nightmare had come from. For Alosa, seeing this place was a part of their family's history. For Solar, it was mostly pure spite.

The clearing around the tree of feelings was desolate, grayed, dead. It had been that way for hundreds of years before Solar and Alosa has been born. Darkened mist swirled around the ground, less than waist high for an adult, but up to the six year old's chests. In the center stood a large stump, the bark cracked and splintering away from the grayed, deadened wood.

Alosa shivered.

"Wow, this place is... kinda sad." Solar's golden eyelights looked out of place here, in this dark, gray place. "Wait, that's not quite the right word. What's the word?"

"De-Depres-sing?"

"Yeah! Depressing. This place is depressing."

The two walked up to the tree. The stump was wider around then both of them put together. It had been around for a long, long time before it had died.

Alosa looked around the clearing. This place was so obviously not what it was meant to be. All of the picture books had show lush green grass and a beautiful tree with beautiful fruits, responsible for the balance. Balance had been lost in this place a long time ago. That was father's fault, wasn't it? He destroyed this place. He-

"Hey, I think there's something carved on the stump,"

Alosa spun back around, his voice glitching like it always did. "Wh-at?"

"Yeah, look. Right here."

He leaned forwards to see what Solar was talking about. Sure enough, on the base of the stump, there it was. It showed two souls, a falling tree, apples, and... something else. Alosa couldn't make out the last part.

"What is it?" Solar asked.

"Du-nno. I thi-nk it's like a su-per simple retel-ling of my dad and your dads st-ory, but the fog's blo-cking the la-st bit."

Solar nodded, and drifted out his soul. His glow was way stronger than mosts; it's where he got his name. Dream had thought it had looked like sunlight. The golden light casted over the last picture.

A skeleton coughing up thick liquid as tentacles broke out of his back.

Alosa grimaced. "ye-p, that's defi-nately it,,,"

All of a sudden, Solar screamed. Alosa whipped around, panic flaring.

The black mist was swirling tightly around Solar's soul, seeping in. Every time the small skeleton tried to unsummon it, the mist condensed, forming a barrier between his chest and the soul.

Solar looked up at Alosa, panicked and in pain. His eyelights had vanished, leaving just the blackness of his socket's. "Help!"

"I- I don't kn-ow how-!"

Solar screamed again, clutching his soul. His spine made a sickening cracking noise, elongating as he arched his back, the nubs on his spine sharpening, tearing ragged holes along the back of his shirt as his legs lengthened, growing almost animalistic.

Alosa backed up until he hit the stump. His cousin had long, clawed phalanges clutched to his skull, letting out pained screams as his teeth grew, sharpened, and--

twisted into an unnatural smile.

Whatever the hell was towering above Alosa, it wasn't his friend.

Alosa dove out of the way right in time to miss claws as long as his forearm slash right across where his chest had been.

"Solar, wa-it, stop, it's me-!"

Solar continued to grin, bringing his claws down on Alosa, who raised his tentacles to block his face, and screamed as they left deep gouges.

He rolled to the side again, a split second before a long, whip thin tail made of bones lashed against the ground, leaving a deep slash through the earth.

"I-I-" Alosa backed up, panicked. I need to get Ink and Uncle Dream.

He dove through a portal, and closed it quickly behind him, not daring to look back at the fury it had undoubtedly caused whatever Solar had turned into. He sprinted through the doodlesphere until he got to a page with a slight glow. There.

He lept into the au, and--

ran straight into Ink.

"wow, someone's in a hurry," Ink laughed.

"don't tease him," Dream scolded.

Alosa was in almost too much panic to speak. He made a few distressed, glitched noises and the two guardians shared a concerned look. Well, concerned for Dream. Ink looked confused and maybe a bit amused.

"I- Solar- we-- we-nt to the tree- corrup-ted him-"

Dream's sockets widened and his eyelights shrank.

Ink, for once, looked concerned. He quickly painted something to life. A golden ring. Alosa recognized it as a magic restrictor.

"Where is Solar now?"

"st-ill by the tree-"

Dream and Ink opened a portal, walking into the clearing. Alosa could feel Dream's emotions stall as if the breath had been squeezes right out of his soul as he saw Solar. He had been expecting tentacles. Blackened sludge. A single eyelight.

Solar slashed his claws at them, and they both ducked and rolled to opposite sides. Dream fired an arrow and it skewered through Solar's scarf, driving into a tree. He growled, a loud, hissing, unnatural noise, gripping the arrow and ripping it out of the wood.

In a moment, Ink had jumped onto his back, holding onto the scarf to keep Solar from shaking him off. He wrestled the magic restrictor onto Solar's head.

Solar wobbled on his feet, his claws, teeth, and tail receding, and his bones shrinking. He passed out, falling into the ground, face first.

Dream carefully picked up his son, cradling him in his arms. His clothes were stretched out, and had jagged holes where his ribs and spine had torn through the fabric.

"Do you think he'll be the same when he wakes up?" asked Ink.

"I... don't know," Dream admitted.

"We'll have to wait and see."

Alosa is by @clearlyclueless, Ink is by @myebi/@comyet, and Dream is by Jokublog

[onedayiwillflyfree]

When the Sun Begins to Fall Chapter 10: Juniper

Read the full story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255530?view_full_work=true

Chapter 10: Juniper

Summer sunsets in Avonlea were truly incomparable. Gilbert should know, he had seen them fall in many different locations over the years. Trinidad, Jamaica, Costa Rica, even in the outer borders of Europe. And none, not one had ever compared to the sun setting over the Lake of Shining Waters. From the peach and lilac streams of light that kissed each wave to the warmth of the last light of the day that contrasted the first of the cool evening breezes. He truly thought nothing would ever top it. Of course, that was until he saw the sight of two shadowy figures dancing farther down the cliff, yelling praises to the sun and all its glory.

“Oh marvelous, wonderful setting sun!” Anne yelled out over the cliff, her fire locks blowing gently behind her back. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence this most glorious of evenings! Your phenomenal beauty knows no bounds!”She grinned from ear to ear as she grabbed hold of Ka’kwets hand and together they twirled. A smile beamed from the young Mi’kmaq girls face, her small braids flapping in the wind. All too quickly, she began losing her balance and sent the pair of them toppling to the ground. They exchanged a single glance before bursting into a fit of childish giggles.

Gilbert smiled as he looked on, his heart feeling more at ease hearing their laughter. A few days prior, Aluk had expressed his concerns to Gilbert about Ka’kwet. He said she was barely eating or speaking to anyone, along with having extreme bouts of rage, and would scream at anyone given the chance. And in the night, she would wake up screaming so loudly that it once woke the entire village. The only activity that appeared to put her to rest was painting with her mother as she was retold stories of days long since passed. Gilbert wasn’t sure what he could do to help her - or if she would even accept it-  but Anne, who had zero medical training, seemed to be helping her better than he ever could.

He felt a sting cross his shoulder as he was smacked with a cluster small oak branches. “Ow!” Gilbert cried, fingers gingerly touching the sting. He looked over to have the branches shook in his face while being scolded by an older woman in a language still foreign to him. “I’m sorry ma’am,” A leaf brushed against his mouth as she continued to shake them. “Aluk! Can you please tell her...” Another whack. “I’m sorry!”

Aluk held in a laugh, resting a gentle hand on his mother’s shoulder and began asking her to stop. She looked back at her son and spoke quickly, saying something that made Aluk smirk. “She said yes they are beautiful, but you are here to learn medicine.” Gilbert felt a flush creep up his neck and make its way to his cheeks.

This brought a grin to her face as she let out a wry chuckle. The medicine woman then pointed in front of them to an empty stump that had four different herbs resting on it. She spoke quickly and then looked at him expectantly. Gilbert peered over her shoulder, silently pleading for a translation from Aluk. He let out a small chuckle and translated. “She wants you to name the four herbs in front of you and what purposes they serve to healing.” 

Gilbert nervously swallowed. He had never had an issue with tests before. Why should this one be any different? “Well,” he looked over the roots and herbs. He picked up a small red berry cluster, this one he could identify in his sleep. “This one is highbush cranberry, it’s good for ails of the bladder, bowels, and stomach. Best to be dried and powdered. However, can be consumed orally as food or in a tea.” Aluk translated, the older woman curtly nodded her approval before pointing to a cluster of purple flowers. 

“These are rosemary,” Gilbert smiled, remembering how Anne had commented on their beauty when he was explaining them to her at dinner a few nights prior. She stated that their name should be changed though, seeing as they were purple rather than the color of a rose. He was urged to continue as the medicine woman raised the leafs again. “Sorry, sorry, it helps with sore joints, spasms, and improves memory.” 

Aluk offered a gentle smile and nodded, pointing to the final two herbs on the stump. Gilbert knew the one with long oval leaves from their powerful aroma. It was a smell he knew well from whenever Mary would cook one of her signature recipes. “Sage. Used in cleansing rituals as well cuts, bruises, and minor colds. The other one...” he glanced down at branch of vibrant green needles and bit his lip. “I’m not sure. I’m sorry.”

His words were translated, the elderly woman shaking her head slightly and began speaking. Aluk nodded, responding briefly back before turning back to Gilbert. “She said needles can get confusing, but these are special and must be remembered.” She continued speaking, picking up the cluster of needles and  dark blue berries. “It’s juniper. Hard to find if you don’t know where to look. Luckily, she said she likes you.” She offered a gentle smile and pointed behind him. Gilbert turned around and a little bit in the distance, close to where Anne and Ka’Kwet were off praising the sun, was a small grouping of bushes growing close to the ground next to a stunning, old oak. He had seen the tree often, always admiring its beauty but he never would have guessed that it was the bushes surrounding it that would be the truly special ones. 

“And what does it heal again?” he asked, his eyes not moving from the bushes. 

“Many different things,” Aluk responded. “Indigestion, sore lungs and throat, we have even had luck with it curing people with diseases you call pneumonia and consumption.” 

Gilbert’s eyes ripped from the tree, gazing at Aluk in disbelief. “Consumption? That’s impossible. Our medicine...” 

The old woman wagged a finger. “Not always right.”  

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?” 

Aluk sucked in a deep breath. “What she means your medicine is good, but you have all been led to believe it is the only way to heal.” The elderly woman pressed the berries and needles into his hands and spoke in her native tongue. “She said the earth has provided means to keep our people alive for hundreds of years. The earth provides for all.” 

He had never considered it that way. In school and in his internships, he had been taught that medicine was always science, nothing more. But the idea that there was so much more out in the world that he could learn as long as he kept his mind open, the thought excited him. Gilbert wrapped his free hand around his mentor and smiled. “Thank you for everything you have taught me this past week. I will treasure it always.” She smiled before Aluk even had a chance to translate. His words didn’t need to be translated, the gratitude was radiating from his body. 

“Earth provides,” she spoke slowly. 

He nodded. “The earth provides.”

——

“Come on boy,” he squeezed his legs tighter as Butterscotch cantered through the woods. Stray branches stung his face and arms, but he didn’t slow down and try to dodge them. Time was short. He could see the clearing a few feet ahead, the cliffs coming into view. Almost there. With a flick of the reigns, he urged the horse to move faster. “Little bit more Butterscotch, we’re almost there!”

Gilbert burst through the trees, one stray pine branch giving a farewell scratch along his leg as he brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the blinding sun. He pulled back on the reigns, encouraging the horse to slow its pace. A familiar sea breeze ruffled his mess of curls, almost as if it was welcoming him home after many months away. His mind drifted to the last time he had been there, desperate and broken after Anne had let him go off to Paris, when he caught sight of the old oak. A smile spread across his lips and he tugged his reigns to the left, dismounting and wrapping the leather straps around a sturdy branch. 

Pulling the empty flower sack and Jerry’s knife from the saddle and jogged over to the bushes. Taking a few sprigs in his hand, he breathed in their calming scent.  “Hello old friends. It's been a while.” His voice was soft, much like Anne’s was whenever he heard her speaking with the kindred spirits within the forest. “I need your help. Anne needs you.” He unsheathed the knife and began expertly cutting through the thin branches, needles poking his hand as he slid them into his bag. *A couple more, then back to Anne. 

After he placed a few more branches into the sack, he tied the burlap shut and quickly made his way back to the horse. He untied the reigns, throwing them over Butterscotch’s lowered head as he grazed on the grass below. “Sorry bud,” he placed a foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself onto the saddle. “I need you to run a little bit more.” The horse snorted in understanding as Gilbert patted his neck. “Good boy.” He pulled the reins towards the woods, stopping only to glance back at the bushes that could be Anne’s saving grace. “Thank you.” He whispered, giving them a grateful smile before he squeezed his legs together and took off back towards the quickly darkening woods. 

———

Fweeet! 

Steam forced its way out the kettle spout, screaming for someone to come relieve the growing pressure. Gilbert grabbed the kettle, ignoring the slight burn he felt on his pinky through the thinnest portion of the towel and poured it into a large pewter cup. A few needles escaped into the cup. He grunted in frustration and reached for a spoon to fish them out. 

“Di, can you clean this out and refill it?” he requested, pulling out most of the needles in one go. 

Diana nodded, her soft black curls tied tightly in a knot on top of her head. “Of course. Roy should be in with a second bucket of water soon.” She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. 

“Good,” he said, still fishing for the final few needles. “You all should take a break for a bit. Don’t want to overheat her from all the steam.” Much to Gilbert’s frustration, a few stragglers remained floating in the water, no matter how hard he fought to get them. “I don’t have time for this.” He mumbled as he tossed the spoon aside and walked swiftly to the stairs, leaving Diana to plop into a kitchen chair.

Cole met him at the top of the stairs, a bucket of cool water in his hands. “Her breathing seems easier now, but her lips are still blue around the edges. She just fell asleep a few moments ago.” Cole wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand when his eyes drifted to the contents of the pewter cup. He frowned. “Are those pine needles?” 

“Juniper needles! I’ll explain later,” Gilbert pushed passed his friend, not trying to be rude but desperate to have Anne ingest the medicines. He pushed opened the door, steam pouring out of the room. He left it open just a crack to allow it to further filter out of the room.

Anne lay her head against Marillas chest, her eyes lightly shut and breathing heavy through her mouth. The tiniest amount of relief wash over him, she was breathing well enough that she could sleep. 

Marilla acknowledged him as he walked over to the bed and sat at their feet. “She fell asleep about ten minutes ago. Poor girl is beyond exhausted.” She ran her fingers around though her daughter’s hair, pulling stray strands from her soaked forehead and pressing them back on her head. “She did the breathing like you showed her. It caused her tremendous pain but she didn’t complain one bit.” She pressed a gentle kiss on the top of Anne’s head. “You’d have been proud of her,” Marilla whispered. 

He was proud. In fact he was so proud he wasn’t sure he could find the words for it. He couldn’t imagine the excruciating pain she must have been feeling in the beginning parts of the breathing treatment. Fighting against pus and mucus that was nesting in her chest...well, he had seen grown men lose hope because of it. 

Anne let out a large cough and her eyes slit open. “Gil...” she whispered in a raspy voice. 

“I’m here, Anne-girl.” He scooted closer to her, cup still firmly in his hands. “I brought something that will help you feel better. You think you could sit up a little more?” 

Anne nodded, reaching for Gilbert’s hand for assistance. He shared an unspoken agreement with Marilla, who pushed Anne forward while he pulled. She sat for a moment, her body swaying as if the mere act of sitting up had made her head spin. Gilbert kept a steady hand on her shoulder, hoping to help keep her upright but to no avail. Anne had eaten very little and moved even less in the last few days, her body was too weak to maintain itself upright. She leaned forward, collapsing into Gilbert’s chest with a soft thud. “Sorry...” 

“Don’t be Anne-girl, but I do need to get into a better position.” She nodded, her forehead moving his shirt with each movement. Gilbert pushed her forward slightly, making sure to keep her stable with one of his hands as he slid next to her on the bed. He looked to Marilla, hoping to not cause a stir but her focus was solely on her weakened child.  “Alright, rest against me. You can put as much weight against me as you need,” Anne leaned into him, her shoulder digging into his upper abdomen but he didn’t have the heart to adjust her. She was fading and from the intense warmth radiating off of her, her fever would soon be reaching its peak. “Anne, I need you to drink this,” She reached a shaky hand towards the cup, trying to take it with her quiver fingers before they fell into his lap. 

Gilbert bit his lip, she was getting weaker with each passing moment. “Here,” he pressed the cup into her hand, his firmly wrapping around hers. “Lean your head back, we will do it together.” 

She lifted her chin, her head resting heavily on Gilbert’s chest as they together brought the cup to her lips. “Little sips, alright?” Together they tipped the cup slowly, Anne taking small sips while Gilbert kept a careful eye that no needles made their escape. She forced the liquid down her throat, each swallow sounding more painful than the last. After a sip that was too large, she began to stir into a coughing fit. Marilla bent forward, patting her back in hopes to assist the pus out. Anne coughed as she turned her face into Gilberts white shirt, launching one final cough of green and red mucus near the collar.

“I’m so sorry...” she whispered as tears dropped down her cheeks, her fingers trying to reach for the spot to wipe it away.

“Stop,” Gilbert wrapped his arm tighter around her, hoping she would learn that he could never be angry with her for something so trivial. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“I’m so tired Gil,” Anne mumbled aimlessly, her eyes looking around the room while her lids slowly shut. “So tired.”

“Little bit more,” Gilbert whispered, tilting the cup the tiniest bit. Anne ignored it, already beginning to slip away. “Come on, Carrots.” He waited for her eyes to shoot open, for her to become cross with him but her breathing began to slow. Gilbert shook her enough that her eyes fluttered. “Just one more sip Anne, please. And then you can sleep. Just one last sip.” His words came out in a plead.

Marilla watched the pair, fighting off tears as Anne opened her mouth to let Gilbert pour in the last bit of liquid. He smiled tightly as she forced it down, coughing one final time before she sunk deep into him, her fingers still holding tightly to the cup beneath his. “Good job, Anne-girl, good job,” he whispered into her sweat soaked hair when his eyes drifted to Marillas. 

“What did you give her?”

“Boiled juniper needles.” He placed the cup in the hand behind Anne, balancing her as he deposited it onto her nightstand. “It’s a traditional Mi'kmaq healing herb.” 

“Why didn’t we use this sooner?” she asked. Her voice was genuine, no anger or frustration in her tone, but instead curiosity. Still, he felt enormously embarrassed by his answer.

“I… I forgot,” he mumbled, looking down at Anne, her red curls had turned into wet clumps from sweat and were sticking to her neck and forehead. Her cheeks were the deepest shade of scarlett he had ever seen on a person and yet, somehow, he still thought she looked as radiant as ever.  “I forgot a lot of important things,” he whispered more to himself than Marilla as he wiped a bead of sweat from Anne’s forehead.

Marilla continued staring at the pair. “Now what?” she questioned, allowing some edge to her tone.

“Well, her breathing seems better for now, so we should be able to stop the steam until she wakes up. Let her cool down and rest.” Gilbert slowly slid her off and laid her down into her stack of ever growing pillows. He pulled her hair from out behind her in hopes it would keep her neck cool. “Give everyone a chance to rest.”

She considered this. “Yes, rest would be good for all.” She looked back to Anne. “And she will be alright?”

Gilbert rolled up his sleeve, already beginning to boil after being in the room for only a few moments. “Well, it’s too soon…” Marilla glared at him. “What I mean is as long as we keep her fever controlled and on the lower end, then yes, she should be okay.”

“And then what?” 

He began running his fingers through the bottom of her hair, pulling out small tangles. “She will take time to recover...” 

“That isn’t what I mean Gilbert.” Marilla’s voice had gone completely cold. 

Gilberts hand stopped, his eyes travelling to the older women. “Marilla...” He started.

“Are you going to leave her again?” Marilla glared at him, her pointed hawk eyes staring into the depths of his soul. “Leaving us to let the rest of us pick up the pieces of the broken woman you left behind?” Her words were that of venom, her anger of his departure no longer able to be hidden behind politeness. “Because if that is your plan, to destroy her heart once more then perhaps she is better off...” her voice caught, a sob slipping through as she sat on the bed and rested a hand on Anne’s arm. 

He leaned over top of Anne, careful to not place any weight on her and grabbed Marilla’s hand. “Marilla… I am calling off my engagement.” Marilla’s mouth sat agape in shock of the news she had just been told.  Gilbert licked his lips and looked over to Anne. There was no one out in the world for him other than Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and he had left her behind. How could one man make such a horrible mistake? “I was a fool. A selfish, ridiculous fool.” His voice was hoarse. Despite the words being directed towards Marilla, they were truly meant for himself. “The mistakes I have made. The hurt I have caused… I fear I will never be able to atone for them.” Gilbert glanced up to Marilla, who was swiping a stray tear from her eyes. “I am so sorry Marilla. So truly sorry for everything. I have done so many things wrong… I’m not sure if I will ever do anything right.” 

She flipped her hand over and held tight to his. “You have made mistakes, Gilbert Blythe. That much is for certain.” He dipped his chin, only for it to be immediately lifted by Marilla’s free hand. “But those made in the past cannot be changed. What is important now is how you grow and learn from those mistakes and how you can prepare for what is to come.”

Gilbert’s eyes burned, tears creating rivers down his cheeks. "I have hurt you all so much Marilla. I have been cruel to Bash, said horrible, heartless things to him. Oblivious to how all of you were feeling. You should all hate me..." 

Marilla rounded the bed, placing herself next to him and cupping his face firmly between both of her hands. "You listen here Gilbert Blythe, you push that thought right from your head.” He let out another sob, the tears continuing to pour as Marilla swiped them away with her thumbs. “Bash, Anne, Delphine, Hazel, Diana, Cole. We are your family and we support one another through the darkest of times. We pick each other up when we fall. You have helped us all up at some point or another when we could barely stand.” His lungs were hurting now, he wanted to wail but he fought back to not wake Anne. Marilla continued to stroke his cheeks, wiping every tear before it fell. “Now this time, it is us who have been waiting to pick you up." She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her and placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head. “And always know, my darling boy, that we will never stop loving you.” 

Gilbert’s entire body shook as he sobbed into her arms. She held him close and let him release every pent up feeling he had held in. Minutes ticked by slowly, the tears flowed but his sobbing ceased, for the tears were no longer out of sadness. Now they were from the relief he didn’t know he needed. Gilbert was home, truly finally home. 

———

That night, with Marillas approval, he was allowed to stay in Anne’s room to keep an eye on her. If it was any other situation, he was sure that she would have denied him without hesitation. But as they all sat around the table that evening, each exhausted from the long, stressful day, Anne awoke with such a wail, it would most likely give Gilbert nightmares for weeks. And the sight he saw when he entered Anne’s room, that would surely haunt him for the rest of his days. 

Anne flailed violently, the entire bed shaking under her. “Oh my God,” Diana, who had been following close behind with Roy and Cole, gasped and brought her hand over her mouth. Gilbert ran to the bed, immediately rolling Anne onto her side. As her eyes rolled back in her head, he began tracking the length of the seizure. One, two, three-

“What’s happening?” Marilla wailed, running down the hall. She let out a loud cry, stumbling back into Cole’s outstretched arms. “What’s happening to her Gilbert?”

“She’s seizing!” He pulled a few pillows from under head, allowing her lay flat. Thirty-three, thirty-four.

“Will it kill her?” Gilbert swallowed and tried to focus his attention on his counting. Forty, forty-o... “Will she die Gilbert!” Marilla screamed, Cole’s arms being the only thing to keep her upright. “You answer me right this moment!”

“I don’t know!” He snapped, silencing the older woman. “Now everyone, shut up and let me count.” The only noise filling the room was the rattling of Anne’s bed as she continued shaking. Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy… Anne’s body began to slow its movements, the seizure had come to its end. Her lids remained heavy, her breathing shallow. Everyone except Gilbert exhaled in unison when she let out a single cough.

“Her fever is rising. And if the seizure is any indication, it’s high.” Gilbert said.. “Diana, open the window.” Diana nodded, still in disbelief of what had just happened, and ran to lift the window pane. Gilbert threw Mary’s quilt off of Anne, causing her to shiver.

“What…” Anne whispered, her head rolling towards Gilbert.

“Anne-girl, you just had a seizure. Your fever is elevating and you need to cool down. I’m going to bring you over to the window.” Gilbert picked Anne up in his arms, not evening pausing for a response. He carried her over to the window where he held her close enough that the cool September air could cool her. 

As the wind blew in through the window, her eyes opened wider but continued to shiver within his arms. “Don’t leave me Gil. Please don’t leave,” she sobbed quietly into his shirt, her words barely audible. 

“Never again,” Gilbert whispered, sliding down the wall so she lay in his lap. He held her close, allowing his body heat to help cease her chills. “Never again,” he repeated, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. 

Marilla sobbed into Cole’s chest, his own terror clear on his face as Roy wrapped both of them in his arms. Diana appeared on the verge of passing out from a combination of exhaustion and fear. It wasn’t until he felt her go limp in his arms and her breathing steady did he bow his head and did something he hadn’t done since he had lost Mary. He prayed.

———

Soft, golden light was streaming through the window when Gilbert decided it was safe to move away from the cool air. Anne’s fever had lowered slightly in the night and he had decided it safe to wrap her in blankets for a few hours. When he went to rise, he noticed his backside was numb from sitting on the floor all evening and he legs felt like jelly. Sitting on a wood floor all night, not your best plan, Gil. He scolded himself, forcing both he and Anne up into a standing position, noticing for the first time just how little Anne was. She’s lost weight so quickly.   

Gilbert yawned as he adjusted her into a better position. His eyes were heavy, begging to close and run away from the world if only for a moment. He carefully stepped over a sleeping Diana, who had made a makeshift bed to stay close if help was needed, and placed Anne gently on the bed.  

He tucked the blankets tightly around her shivering body and stacked an additional pillow under her head. She let out a collection of coughs, none intense enough to wake her from her deep slumber. A familiar smell wafted through the door as Gilbert rubbed his eyes and demanded they remain open a little while longer.

“Coffee,” Gilbert whispered as he inhaled the scent. Anne stirred in the bed, almost as if she could sense that he was going to exit the room. In truth, he dreaded the thought of leaving her, especially after the promise he had made. But he had been awake for over twenty-four hours and had a feeling he wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime in the near future. He needed coffee. Anne would also be coming do for a breathing treatment as well as another round of medicine. “I’ll be back in a moment, Anne-girl,” he whispered close to her ear, pushing hair away from her eyes. 

He stepped over Diana, pausing for a moment to cover her with a blanket that had been kicked off during the night. “Thanks Di.” She snuggled the blanket close, mumbling something along the lines of thank you before drifting back off. 

The smell of coffee carried him down the hall, almost as if the magic scent was moving his body for him. Sounds of laughter and silverware clacked against china echoed up the steps. He took the first few steps when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“You mean to tell me that skinny little Blythe, who is like half of your size, did that to your face?” Gilberts stomach did a backflip as he took one additional step, peering around the wall to see a full table. Roy and Cole sat on the far end closest to the fire, while Marilla, who looked in desperate need of additional time in her bed, sat at the head with a wild Delly bouncing on her lap. Hazel scurried around the table, depositing freshly fried eggs onto every ones plates.

“I thoughts I had him at firsts.” Roy said, his cut lip now swollen to the size of a small stone. Hazel scooped the last of the eggs onto his plate. “Thanks yous, Miss Lacroixs.”

She nodded, her lips curled in a tight smile as she fought off a laugh and went to filling the coffee cups resting on the table. 

The man sitting with his back to the stairs let out a hearty laugh. “I’m gonna be honest, I’m impressed with him. So what did ya say about Queen Anne to earn that type of beating?” Hazel snapped a towel, the corner flicking hard against his neck. He brought a hand up to the sting. “Ow, what was that for Ma?” 

Hazel rolled her eyes, looking expectantly at him. “Honestly Sebastian Lacroix, that is not a discussion for the breakfast table.”

“Ah, so save it for lunch.” He couldn’t see Bash’s face but he knew that he was giving his signature grin, which earned a second, less serious eye roll from his mother. Gilbert smirked, feeling comfortable enough to take the rest of the steps. The sounds for forks scraping against plates ceased as the kitchen floor creaked beneath his feet. All members of the table, save one who couldn’t quite bring his eyes from the plate in front of him, stared at him.

Gilbert held up an awkward hand in greeting. “Mornin’.”

“Unsel Gilbur!” His niece rejoiced, leaping from Marillas lap and barreled over. 

He bent down, forgetting his exhaustion, and caught her when she jumped into his outstretched arms. He blew a gentle raspberry against her cheek, earning a tiny squeal in return. She grabbed hold of his cheeks, pushing his face away with a toothy grin before brushing her nose with his, their secret greeting. “Good morning, my angel.” 

She cast a glance over his shoulder, half expectanting another to come down behind him. “Where Auntie?”

Hazel’s eyes widened, as if her grandchild had just brought up a taboo subject. “Delphine,” she said sternly.  

Gilbert locked eyes with her and shook his head. Delphine Lacroix was a smart child, perhaps one of the smartest Gilbert had ever known. And she had a right to know what was going on with one of the most significant people in her life. *Especially if Anne... He pushed the thought from his head and instead went to explaining in a way he felt wouldn’t cause the young girl much distress. “Angel, you know how at times your belly hurts or your throat feels scratchy?” She nodded her head. “Well, that means you’re sick.  And Auntie,” he paused, finding himself struggling to speak. Delly’s doe eyes stared up at him, hanging from his every word. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Auntie is sick, more sick than just a belly ache or a scratchy throat.” 

“Oh.” She considered his words before asking. “Ring Auntie treats?” Gilbert smiled, amazed that her young mind associated illness with receiving treats from Anne.

“Not right now, angel,” he spoke softly, hoping his niece would understand.

She contemplated his words again, this time shrugging her shoulders and pointed to the table. “Me hungry.” 

Gilbert chuckled softly. “Me hungry too. Let’s go eat.”

He carried her over to the table and dropped into a chair with her on his lap. Hazel brought over a plate of eggs, toast, and perfectly paired with  a piping hot cup of coffee. “Thank you, Hazel.”

“Of course,” she said hesitantly. Gilbert buttered the slice toast and handed it to his niece, who began happily munching away on it as he reached for the coffee. He brought the black liquid to his lips and took a large sip. It was as thick as sludge and burned his tongue the moment it entered his mouth but he found himself not caring. After all the events from this weekend, he would drink dish water if it would keep him awake for a while longer. 

It was only after drinking half of the mug did he finally notice everyone’s eyes were silently trained on him, no one touching their food or making a peep. The only exception being Bash, who seemed rather enthralled with shoving his eggs off in different directions on his plate. Please look at me. Gilbert wished silently. Please Bash, just give me some sign that you don’t hate me. 

Cole was the first to break the awkward silence and asked the question that they all were holding on their tongues. “How is she?” 

Gilbert wiped his eyes and adjusted Delphine on his lap. “She had a few additional fits in the night. Each lasting at least sixty seconds.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was the coffee taking so long to kick in? “Her fever thankfully broke enough for her to sleep.”

“That’s a good sign rights?” Roy asked. Gilbert finally caught a good look at the mans face and fought back a grimace at the large bruises and cuts.

“Yes and no.” Gilbert sighed. “It’s good that it went down, but it wasn’t going without a fight. I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of it. She also has started having her coughing fits again.” He took another sip of his coffee and looked across the table at Marilla, the bags under her eyes most likely a reflection of his own. “We should do another breathing treatment, keep her lungs clear.”

“Roy and I will be in charge of water, running it to and fro?” Cole asked.

“It would be appreciated.” Gilbert stabbed an egg in the middle. “Finish up your breakfast and then head out to get started.” He shoved the entire egg in his mouth, chewing thoroughly to not choke. “Hazel…”

“Swallow first.” She scolded. Gilbert forced the eggs down with a loud gulp, earning a giggle from Delly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Could you please grab the herbs in that bag by the fireplace and begin boiling a kettle? Anne is due for medicine.” Hazel nodded curtly and went about her task.

“And what of me?” Marilla asked, her weary eyes constantly drifting up to the steps. Despite his insistence that she sleep last night, she was up almost hourly checking through a crack in the door to see how her daughter was doing. She tried to stay away, give him space to care for Anne but he would hear her soft sobs coming from just outside the door after a particularly bad coughing fit or seizure.

“You should rest, Mar...”

“As should you,” she snapped. Immediately she took a deep breath and regained her composure. “Just tell me what to do Gilbert.”

He shook his head, he could never win in an argument with Marilla even when he was well rested so what was the point of trying to on no sleep. “Water. She needs to drink. The last time she managed to get down any way from a cup was last afternoon. When we tried to give her some last night, she could barely swallow. So you’re going to need to...” he looked down at Delly, who was paying the conversation no mind as she fed the last bites of her toast to her doll. He still made an effort to keep his voice low so as not to frighten her. “Moisten a rag and put it in her mouth.” Marillas eyes widened. “I know, it sounds barbaric but she is burning from the inside. She needs to hydrate. If she doesn’t...” He let his voice trail off, knowing all those present in the room didn’t need to hear the ending for that sentence to understand it.. “And I’m going to…”

“You’re going to rest,”  Bash interrupted, speaking for the first time since Gilbert had walked down the steps. Bash shoveled the last bits of his eggs into his mouth and walked his plate over to the sink. 

Gilbert tried to find words. “I have things I need to...” 

“Yes, like sleep.” Bash didn’t turn, instead his focus was on the water he began pumping into the sink. “You look like hell, Blythe. Worse than the time foreman made you shovel coal for twelve hours after you sang one too many songs.” He picked up his plate and began scrubbing it gently. “Maybe take time to bathe too, you’re starting to smell worse than a latrine after bean stew day. We can hold down the fort while you take care of yourself for an hour.”

“I can’t do that. I need to be there for her.”

Bash threw down the brush in the soapy water. “*Dammit Blythe, would you stop being so stubborn for once?!”

Stunned silence engulfed the room. The only sound came from the water rushing from the spout and the gentle popping from the fresh log Hazel had just placed in the fire. Even Delly seemed surprised by her fathers outburst, her doll slipping from her small fingers and landing on the floor. Bash exhaled slowly and picked the brush out of the basin and began scrubbing harder.

Marilla cleared her throat. “Well, we all have jobs,” She scooted her chair back and stood. “Best get to it, come along boys.” She began gathering plates, nudging Cole slightly when he didn’t move from his seat.

“Uh yeah. We better...” Cole rose, still staring between the two men.. 

“Gose. Wese betters gose.” Roy finished, half shoving Cole out the door. Marilla and Hazel shared a glance as Marilla took the kettle and poured its contents into the same cup Gilbert used yesterday. 

Hazel cleared her throat. “Uh Delphine,” Delly paused her futile attempts to reach for her doll and looked to her Grandmother. “How about we go and see how Mr. Baynard is doin’ out in the barn?” 

Delly shook her head, holding tight to Gilbert’s shirt. “Gilbur come.” 

“Delphine,” Hazel scolded. Delly responded by digging her head deep into her uncle's chest. “Delphine Mary Lacroix.” She shook her head, pushing her forehead hard against his sternum. 

The pain made Gilbert break his gaze. “Del, listen to Gram Gram please.” She shook her head again, her brown curls bouncing back and forth. He bit his lip, for once hating the stubbornness that she had inherited from him. A horse brayed from just beyond the window, an idea coming to him. 

“Hey angel,” Gilbert placed tender fingers under her chin, lifting so her glistening doe eyes were staring back at him. “Auntie Anne is sick, right?” She nodded her head slowly. “Then who is brushing Belle, Butterscotch, and Midnight? And making sure they’re getting their treats?” 

Delly’s eyes widened as she leapt off of her uncle's lap and bounded for the door. “Gram gram! Come! Horsies!” She threw open the door, slamming it hard against the wall and running through it.

“Del… Delphine! Wait for me child!” Hazel barrelled after her grandchild, the faintest traces of a smile forming on her lips.

Bash and Gilbert were the only two to remain, the bristles scraping against the porcelain being the only thing to break the silence between the pair. Gilbert stared at his brothers back, anxiety taking hold. *What do I say to him? I need to apologize. I need to tell him how deeply sorry I...

“If you’re finished with your plate, could you bring it to me?” Bash requested as he deposited the final breakfast plate onto the counter.

“Oh uh, yes,” Gilbert mumbled as he stood and brought the plate over. Bash didn’t look up focusing solely on pumping more water into the sink. Handing off the plate, Gilbert finally began to muster courage to speak. “Bash, I want to...”

“You remember when we first heard about Mary? That there was nothing that could be done for her?” Bash interrupted, scrubbing hard against the plate.

“Uh, yes, I do…” Gilbert replied, feeling the slightest bit confused. “But Bash I want…”

Bash ignored him. “I was so angry. Angry at God, angry at doc, angry at Elijah… angry at myself. I hated myself the most, thinking how could I let this happen to my love. I was supposed to provide for her, protect her.” Gilbert watching his hand press harder into the plate with every word. “And I felt… I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone. No one could possibly understand my rage or my pain. I wanted to hide away from the world.” His hands ceased moving, his eyes drifting out the window. “And then you found me. And you told me you would be there for me. Always. So when I found out you would be gone...” Bash’s voice trailed off but Gilbert didn’t need him to finish, he understood now why he had been upset. It wasn’t because Bash would be taking on an additional load of work, it would be because he was losing one of the only remaining members of his family.

Gilbert stepped closer, reaching tentatively for his brothers shoulder. “Bash… I am so...”

Bash ignored him once again and began scrubbing the already pristine plate, his voice began to crack. “I thought to myself, he has no right to be angry at me. I am the one that is being left behind. You were running off to go live your perfect life with a pretty little wife. Leaving behind me and Delphine and your home. And then I remembered why you came back.” His words came out hoarse as he placed the plate down to be dried. “The woman you love, really truly love, is sick. Dying maybe. Which made me think… that maybe you are feelin’ the same anger I felt.” Bash finally met looked Gilbert head on, his eyes beginning to red around the rims. “I was selfish. I hope...” 

Gilbert threw his arms around his brothers shoulders and squeezed as hard as he could. Bash’s breath quivered as he returned the hug, wrapping his arms so tightly around Gilberts chest that breathing became a challenge.

 “I’m the one who is sorry, brother.” Gilbert mumbled into Bash’s shoulder. “I have been so oblivious to the world around me and focusing solely on my desires.” His voice broke as a sob was working it’s way up. “Mary...”

“Would be so proud of you.” Bash pulled away, grasping tightly to his brothers shoulders. 

Gilbert shook his head. “No she wouldn’t. She would be ashamed of the mess I made.”

Bash chuckled. “You have caused a right good mess, haven’t you?” Gilbert smirked as Bash patted his cheek. “No Blythe, she would be proud that you are learning from your mistakes. And through each one, you have found your way home. And more importantly,” he threw his chin over his shoulder to the stairs, “You made your way back to her.”

Gilbert knitted his eyebrows together. “How do you...” 

“I know that temper of yours only flares up when Anne is involved. And by the look of that rich boy’s face, I would say it exploded.” 

Gilbert touched his scabbed knuckles instinctively, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Yeah… may have gone a tad too far.”

“No kiddin’.” They exchanged knowing glances, immediately bursting in roars is hearty chuckles. He should feel guilty, knowing that Anne was upstairs struggling deeply, but he had to admit: the laughter felt good after days filled with fear and anger. It made it feel like old times, times before Paris and engagements. Before times of lossed loved ones. 

At the thought of Mary, Gilbert’s stomach dropped. There was one last aspect he needed forgiveness for. “Bash,” Gilbert said seriously. 

Bash stopped chuckling but a smile still played on his lips all the same. “Yes Blythe.” 

Gilbert inhaled nervously. “I need to let you know how deeply I regret the cruel words I said about you and Mary.” Bash’s smile faded, suddenly realize just how serious this conversation has turned. Gilbert continued, “I have never thought that those things about either of you. Or of your marriage. I know the love the two of you shared… it was something of pure magic.” Bash nodded slowly, digesting the words. Gilbert began to grow anxious at the silent response he was receiving. “I hope one day you can forgive me or I can find a way to atone for them.” 

Bash stopped nodding and rubbed his chin. “You finished?” Gilbert bit his lip and nodded. Bash grabbed hold of his brothers shoulder, readying to pull him into what Gilbert thought would be another hug and smiled softly. Gilbert smiled back, relief washing over him for the briefest of moments until he felt a fist plunged into his stomach. 

“Christ Bash,” he sputtered as he doubled over. He couldn't catch his breath and felt the beginnings of his breakfast wanting to make a reappearance. 

Bash smirked as helped his stumbling brother over to the sink, clapping him gently on the back. “It’s alright Blythe,” Gilbert spit into the sink as his mouth began to salivate. “Let it out.” Bash rubbed his back, a laugh laying in his tone. 

“A little...” More saliva in the sink. “Warning would have been ni...” He gagged, unable to hold down the entirety of his breakfast from falling into the sink. . 

“Ah! There we go!” Bash cheered, handing Gilbert the towel he has slung over his shoulder. “Good to know you can throw a punch better than you can take one.” 

Gilbert glared at his laughing brother as he swiped the towel from him.“Yeah. We even?” He asked as he wiped his mouth.

Bash smirked, holding out his hand. “For now.” Gilbert rolled his eyes and threw the vomit covered towel at Bash’s chest. He caught it before it hit him, mocking disgust before tossing it aside before holding his arms out to hug Gilbert. “Come here, Gilby Goo.” 

He happily accepted the hug, holding tight to Bash once more. “Love you Bash,” Gilbert whispered into his brother's shirt.

“Paris made you soft brother,” Bash said it jokingly but the tone of his voice was filled with an underlying tone of love. Gilbert understood that in his brothers own special way, that the insult was his own way of expressing his love for him. 

The kitchen door slammed open and they quickly pulled apart from the other just in time to see Delly skip into the kitchen, sights set directly on her father and uncle. She ran over to them, jumping up excitedly as she announced. “Papa, Gilbur! Pretty lady here!” 

Bash and Gilbert exchanges glances, knowing all too well that there was only one person Delly referred to as the “pretty lady”. 

“It is a pleasure to see you again, ma’am! Here, let me take those heavy cases for you.” Hazel said from the porch. 

A soft voice responded. “Oh, Miss Lacroix, you don’t need to-“

“Nonsense! You have travelled all this way, the least I can do is help you with your bags!” The screen door creaked open. 

“This should be fun.” Bash mumbled under his breath as he placed a gentle hand on his daughter’s shoulders.

“Well actually they’re for Gilbert…” Her voice was tender as she stepped over the threshold. Gilbert swallowed as his eyes glued immediately to the woman’s face, which glowed with a radiant smile and sparkling sapphire eyes. The dark shade of blue on her dress flattered each of her curves perfectly and should have left him breathless but it never did. When her eyes found Gilbert’s, her entire demeanor seemed to falter, the air of elegance turning into something much less. 

“It is so kind of you to bring Gilbert’s things.” Hazel busseled in the door behind Winnie, her tone still excites from the new company. “I’m sure he will appreciate… my lord Gilbert, are you feelin’ well?” Hazel questioned. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Gilbert saw Bash pointing to the corner of his mouth, indicating a stray egg that he had missed with the towel. Gilbert quickly swiped the back of his hand across his lips, wiping away any last traces of vomit and nodded. “Just ate too quickly this morning.” He said with an awkward laugh. 

“Anyway,” Hazel said slowly, clearly unconvinced. “Miss Rose has arrived with your things,” Lifting a dark leather case. *Yet another gift from your supposed in-laws. Gilbert bit his lip at the thought as Hazel continued. “Where would you like to me to put them?” 

Words suddenly became foreign to him. He couldn’t find himself focus on any one word or person. Not with Winnie standing in the same room as him, giving him an expression he couldn’t clearly read. To him, deciding to break off the engagement has been easy, but now, seeing the woman whose heart he was going to break before the day was out...he felt like Bash has punched him in the gut for a second time. 

Bash looked between the young couple, sensing the tension. He cleared his throat and nudged Delly slightly to the side as he reached for the bag. “Here Ma, why don’t we leave Blythe’s suitcase here and then head back out to the barn? Give these two some time alone.”

Confusion crossed Hazel’s face until she looked between the young couple staring at one another. “Ah yes of course. Uh, here.” She handed her son the suitcase and awkwardly continued to look between the young couple. Bash tossed the bag back into Gilbert’s chest, which he caught blindly. He couldn’t seem to move his eyes away from Winnie as he still tried to figure out her expression. 

Delly shifted anxiously. “Me hungry!” She declared loudly. 

Hazel rolled her eyes. “I swear child, you are going to eat us all out of house and home!” It was meant to ease the tension that seemed to be ever growing but it fell short.

Bash smiled down at his daughter and picked her up. “Come along my sweets. Let’s let Uncle Gilby and Miss Rose have some space.” 

She crossed her arms and scolded her father. “Papa, Unsle Gilbur.” 

“Right right, Unsle Gilbur, not Gilby.” Bash laughed, stepping towards the door before giving a small nod to Winnie. “Always a pleasure, Winnie.”

Winifred finally broke her stare with Gilbert and offered a polite smile. “As you, Sebastian.” He smiled in return, shooting a glance over to Gilbert before carrying his daughter out the door to play outside.

Wisps of curls moved slightly as the door closed behind her and her gaze returned to Gilbert. “Hello,” she said, the corners of her mouth lifting as she addressed him for the first time.

“Hi,” was all Gilbert could squeak out, his leather bag being held tightly to his chest. Winifred bit her lip, both appearing to be lost for words once more. 

“I can make you something while I make Delly a snack Miss Rose!” Hazel sputtered out. Both sets of eyes traveled over to her in confusion as she laughed awkwardly. “Yes, that’s what I will do. I’ll make you something.” She immediately walked to the stove, grabbing pots and pans from the shelf above. “Eggs, toast?” 

“Oh, no thank you Miss Lacroix. I won’t...” She stopped herself. “I’m not hungry at the moment. Thank you kindly for the offer though.”

“Oh,” Hazels face fell. Her eyes scanned the room quickly before landing on a basket of fruit. “Well I uh, I will take Delphine her snack!” Grabbing a plump red apple from the bowl and shining on her apron. “Ah perfect. I uh, will leave you two be, then.” Her words fell upon deaf ears as she exited the kitchen.

Gilbert shifted his weight, wondering what to say to make this any easier on her. He just needed to muster some courage but none seemed like it would come. Just get it over with. It’s going to hurt her either way. “Win...”

“You should go get changed.” She interrupted with urgency. 

Gilbert’s jaw sat slacked. “Uh…”

Winnie took a deep breath, her voice calmer and said, “Sorry, I just mean, perhaps you would like to change before we talk. You’re in the same clothes I saw you in on Saturday.” 

Gilbert bit the inside of his cheek, realizing she was correct. He desperately wanted to get out of the clothes that Anne had been coughing all over for days. Another realization dawned. It had only been a little over a day since he had last seen Winifred. And somehow, within that time frame, he had decided to break off the engagement and realized his true feelings for Anne. 

“I’ll, uh, be right back,” he mumbled, trying to not reveal his shock and clambered up the stairs. 

——

Gilbert splashed water from the basin on his face before glancing back up at himself in the mirror. The man he was staring at was similar to the one he saw a few nights ago.  His chestnut curls cling to his face and his eyes were beginning to red around the edges, but he looked older, like this weekend had aged him. Or perhaps it was simply the lack of sleep. He knew he should close his eyes for a short while but with the height of his anxiety, he knew that wouldn’t be possible. Okay Gilbert, you can do this. It is not good for either of you to drag this out any longer. 

He readied to head out the door, even went so far as grabbing the door knob before turning around and started pacing about Jerry’s room. “For Lord’s sake Gilbert,” he whispered quietly to himself. “You just need to get it over with.” After everything she’s done for you. Her family has done for you, you’re just going to break her heart. Two years you’ve been engaged! Two years! What kind of monster are you? 

Gilbert groaned, shaking his head and sending water flying about the room. He had to do this. It would be a cruel disservice to continue along with this engagement when he knew that he loved another. Winnie was a wonderful woman and she deserved someone that would give her his heart fully. “Alright, I can do this.” His voice shook, trying hard to find any small amount of courage. 

He caught a glance at himself in the mirror once more and straightened himself. “You have to do this.” He said with more confidence. Turning towards the door and this time without hesitation, he took the knob and clicked the door open, entering the hallway. Anne’s door sat ajar, a soft voice flowing from its opening.

“When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see nothing but the great gray prairie on every side,” he peered through the crack. Winnie sat in the chair next to Anne’s bed, an emerald book cracked open in her hands. Her voice was melodic as she read, not filled with the passion and vivacity that Anne would, but it was calming. “Not a tree nor a house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land...”

He rapped his knuckles gently against the oak door, causing Winnie to jump and the book slipping from her fingers onto the floor. She looked at him, holding her hand to her chest.  “Oh darling, you frightened me.” 

“You shouldn’t be here, Win,” he whispered, not out of cruelty but of concern.

Winifred rolled her eyes and bent to pick up the fallen book, closing it and placing it gently on Anne’s bedside table. “Honestly Gilbert, I work in a doctor’s practice. I’m not frightened by the sick.” She glanced to Anne, whose breathing quivered as she shook from her chills. Winnie pulled the quilt up just below Anne’s chin. “Besides, someone needed to sit with her. Diana, who looked almost as ghastly as you, needed to go eat and clean herself up. And Miss Cuthbert went to check on how the water boiling was coming along.” She reached into the water basin beside the bed, ringing out a cool rag before placing it on Anne’s burning forehead. “Not to mention, I am also someone who hasn't been awake for two days and don’t mind taking care of a friend while the rest of you rest for a moment.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond, so instead he let his eyes drift to the book. “That is the book you got for her in Paris, right?” He asked as he crossed the room and picked it up. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was written across the center in metallic gold lettering.

Winnie nodded, her eyes not quite meeting Gilberts. “I figured she would rather hear a story than anything I have to say.” 

Gilbert looked down and saw an expression that surprised him. Her features were not filled with anger or envy, but instead they looked calm and slightly sad. “Miss Cuthbert said she seized last evening,” she whispered sadly, her eyes not leaving Anne’s scarlet cheeks. 

“Yes,” he put the book down and bent over to adjust the rag on Anne’s forehead so water wouldn’t soak her hair. Slowly, he moved stray curls behind her ear before he went to wiping a stray droplet of water from her cheek. “She seems okay for now. Tired. But I’m expecting it to spike again soon.” He pulled away, realizing his hands lingered much too long. 

Winifred bit her lip. “Darling?” she said to grab his attention.

“Hmm?”  

“When Miss Cuthbert returns, will you walk with me? ” 

He breathed deeply, knowing that the minute he was alone with her, he would have to do the task he was dreading. “I shouldn’t stray too far from here…”

“Just a short one, only to the edge of Green Gables.” He pulled his stare from the sleeping woman and looked at the one standing across from him. Her eyes had begun to glisten. She knows. “Please.” 

Now's the time for you to be a man, Gilbert.  “Okay.”

[chillax-kass-w]

After All | M17

[Reiner Braun/Reader]

Happiness seems impossible for Reiner, but he may get there after all. 

Read on AO3

[As a note, the format of this story is as follows: chapters actually titled “Chapter _” are current to the Marley Arc, chapters titled “M_” are Reiner’s memories in succession, and chapters titled “RM_” are the Reader’s memories in succession]

Previous

Reiner was honestly stumped. After two weeks of hard work in preparation for the 57th Expedition, there was finally a day off, yet (f/n) was nowhere to be found. He’d asked around, and he’d learned she’d made her way into the woods after breakfast that morning. Despite that knowledge, he couldn’t find her anywhere. For once, he regretted sleeping in late. If he hadn’t, he’d have known where she was.

For some reason, he was worried.

He knew by now he had no right to worry about her. She was strong. He’d seen it in training. He’d heard of her achievements in the Battle of Trost. Six Titan kills and ten assists told him everything he needed to know. She’d surprised everyone, even him, though he knew it shouldn’t have. The sixth place in the rankings was still elite, and he knew more than anyone that (f/n) wouldn’t go down without a fight.

He walked into a small opening in the trees, and a sigh left him. He’d spent all of an hour searching for her. At this rate, she’d get back before him.

“Whatcha sighing for?”

The voice came from above him, and he followed it to find the girl perched on a branch some ten feet off the ground. “What are you doing up there?” She was just swinging her legs, carefree as she had been what felt like years before in training. He wondered how she managed it.

Stress really does age you.

“Watching the clouds. What are you doing down there?”

“Looking for you.”

She laughed, slowly making her way to the ground. “Well, looks like you found me. What now?”

He grinned. “I don’t really know. Didn’t think that far ahead.” She only walked away, gesturing for him to follow her. He did just that.

“Well, I was thinking about my childhood. This patch of woods reminds me of the one a ways away from my house growing up. My parents would take me out and teach me about the plants and animals. We’d have picnics all the time too.” She looked up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves, and Reiner knew she was a bit sad about the recollection. He could see the bittersweet nostalgia in her eyes. He wanted to cheer her up. He wanted to see that smile again.

He wanted to forget.

“Teach me.”

Her grin told him those were the right words. “Alright, well I feel like it’s a dumb question, but have you ever collected walnuts?” He shook his head, and she stopped in her steps. “Have you ever eaten a walnut?” He shook his head again. Despite her confusion, she turned to continue on. “I guess we’ll have to fix that. It was one of my favorite things to do when I was little. I’d collect them and my dad would crack them open for me. I actually found a group of trees just a little ways into the woods that have a bunch on the ground the squirrels haven’t gotten to.”

As they walked, she gestured to different trees and named them. Oak, beech, pine, and so on. She seemed so excited to impart her knowledge; he was glad. When they arrived at their destination, she bent down to pick up what looked to be a mere wooden ball. “Here’s what we’re after. Pick up as many as you can.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” He dodged her swat, already knowing she hated when he called her that.

“I swear…” Her sigh caused him to chuckle, and he bent down to pick up two handfuls of the nuts. Looking over at (f/n), he felt a small smile curl his lips. She was gathering walnuts left and right, a thoughtful expression etched onto her face. She looked so content with life in that moment.

He was too.

“Alright, come over here. You’re stronger, so you can have the honor of cracking them open, Noble Knight.” She handed him a stone, and he made to crack one. Out of the earthen shell came pale yellow flesh, and Reiner was surprised by the sight. “Wow, lucky. Usually it doesn’t come out in one piece.” She split the odd shaped flesh in two, handing a piece to Reiner. It appeared so small, so miniscule in his hand. Without hesitation, the girl slipped her piece past her lips, and she hummed in delight. The absolute joy that filled her cheeks stopped his hesitation in its tracks, and he placed the walnut upon his tongue.

He hadn’t expected something so small to be so rich in flavor. So savory, so smooth. Earthen in every delightful way. He wondered why he’d never beheld the flavor in his lifetime.

((He knew why)).

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s really good.”

“Told you so.”

Beneath the canopy of the walnut trees, they continued to eat in comfortable silence. The satisfaction of splitting open the nuts and partaking in their sustenance became all Reiner could think of. The task was mindless; the taste was satisfactory. Before long, all they had gathered were left hollow husks, all flesh eaten, all value gone. (f/n) grabbed his hand then, and she led him to an opening in the canopy. The grass was soft beneath them as they reclined. He stretched himself out beside her before taking her in.

Her eyes were on the clouds above, mesmerized by the nature of the world as always. The content expression on her face spoke volumes even as she remained silent. Head turned to her, Reiner felt a sense of awe in his chest. She appeared so mundane, so absolutely fulfilled. The world was at peace with her, and she with it. War held no power there in that moment; Death did not touch her. His wonder turned to bated breath when her voice met the air again.

“What was your childhood like?” Something deep within his mind stirred, but he refused to bring it to light. He remembered his place within the Walls, his hometown along the river not far from Wall Maria, and he sighed. Before he could reply, she spoke again. “Sorry, I shouldn’t ask that. I know it’s a hard topic for a lot of people. I just wanted to know more about you.”

He shook his head then, but he knew she couldn’t see it. “I didn’t go outside much. Never experienced any of this for fun. Didn’t have a childhood, really. I was always put to work.”

She turned to him then, and the regret on her face hurt him in some capacity. He didn’t want pity. But it changed into a sad smile, and he questioned it. “Well, it’s like I said. I’ll teach you everything I know about our world, and then, when we finally get outside of these Walls, we can learn together.” She faced the clouds again, as if her words hadn’t affected him so.

Just like the first day he met her, he didn’t understand her at all. He thought he had some sort of understanding, but every time she spoke like that it was as if all understanding was out the window. She’d experienced Death, Loss, War, and many other things in her life, yet her mindset stayed the same.Almost childish, almost ignorant, yet full of maturity in some type of way. She focused on the moment. She connected with the mundane. That word seemed so perfect for her: mundane.  Content with sitting in the grass, content with watching the clouds, content with eating walnuts to foster some sort of momentary security. Yet she wasn’t content with settling with that as her lot; she wanted more.

He wanted more.

He wanted to experience her world, the way she saw life. He wanted to see the outside by her side. He wanted to understand her further. He wanted so much.

But he was content.

So he turned eyes to the clouds and imbibed in their majesty. He forgot his worries, at least in that moment. He heard the birds singing; he felt the wind playing with his hair. The sun’s warmth upon his skin was just enough. The soft grass beneath him was just enough. The presence beside him was just enough. And, when he closed his eyes, he understood.

Next

[softly-savage-mint-yoongi]

Moonchild

Genre: Fantasy/Magic AU! Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Part 2 Previous

 The sound of a wolf howling makes your eyes snap open. Somehow, the sound is familiar to screaming and it leaves you with chills.

 You’re in a forest full of towering trees and a canopy so thick you can barely see the moonlight filtering through. The wolf howls again. The feet beneath you are acting on their own and suddenly you’re running desperately towards the sound. As you draw closer, a smell not unlike smoke reaches your nose. It fills your lungs thicker with every heaving inhale.

 The ground quakes gently with the following cry of pain from the wolf. You’re close, and when you see the bright light of the moon ahead in the trees you know that’s where it is. You stop a few feet short of the treeline, still comfortable in the shrouded darkness.

 There’s a small clearing, perfectly circular. Standing in the dead center is the very same wolf you’ve been seeing. Even with its head hung low, its hackles raised in pain, it has a large body and an even larger presence. It is commanding and strong.

 Beneath its paws is a black haze, akin to thick smoke. The tendrils of it unfurl and roll back in slow, lazy patters and you can feel a thrumming from it like a beating heart. The wolf flinches and shakes its head, eyes scrunching closed.

 The tempo of the blackness increases to a restless gallop and the wolf shifts from paw to paw as if the very earth scorches where it stands on the crusted dirt. It whimpers as the tendrils flow with unchecked power, raw and hungry. Suddenly, the ground shakes and it cries out in a sharp howl and the haze beneath him grows so rapidly that you step back a few paces subconsciously.

 The stench of smoke drowns your olfactory senses once more and it hurts to breath in. The blackness stretches out in a perfect circle until everything up to the edges of the clearing are engulfed in it. The wolf remains unharmed at its center.

 Once the haze recedes you realize that this clearing was made by the wolf and the power of pure destruction it wields. The wolf remains untouched by death. You finally notice the lack of grass where the clearing is and the cracked earth that looks bone dry. There is a glittering of ash in the air and on the wolf’s back as it catches the moonlight and you can’t help but consider that it is beautiful.

 Whimpering draws your attention back to it where it stands. The wolf is panting heavily with exertion, weak as it wobbles from side to side. The black haze is back to a calm, weaker, beat, small tendrils seeping slowly out from beneath massive black paws. A strong growl tears from its throat. You raise your eyes to meet its gaze, expecting to see a threat there. Instead, you choke on your own surprise at the unabashed torment radiating from behind those eyes.

The intense pain you feel from it shakes you to the core. You wake with a jolt, a sob wrecking its way up your dry throat as you feel the tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

You rise, too wound up to continue your fitful night’s sleep. Looking around you notice a piece of paper is stuck to the door with a small skinning knife. Taehyung is sprawled on his back in front of the hearth, his whiskers, tail and an occasional paw twitching as he dreams. The lazy flames look warm and inviting after the cold, dark nightmare, and you wish you were still tired enough to cuddle up with the tiger on the floor and go back to sleep.

You know you need to bathe. You can feel the grime and build up from not having a proper bath as it sits on your skin and in your hair. You know someone wiped you down with a clean cloth and water during your time of bed rest. You realize it was more practical that Namjoon was the one who cared for you during all of it, and the thought of the attractive man doing something like that leaves your skin with a warm, gentle flush momentarily before your nightmare’s affects continue to make you shiver.

Shaking your head, you leave the warm bed, curiosity of the notes contents leading you to it.

 ‘I’ll be back by mid morning. Hoseok has taken it upon himself to care for you in my absence if you need anything. -Namjoon’

As nice as the note sounds, you believe only Taehyung is here right now.  Your eyes automatically flick to the shelves in search of the observant Leopard cat, only to find them all empty. You decide to go outside for some fresh air and perhaps you’ll find the deer.

Stepping through the doorway, the crisp night air soothes your lungs as you breathe deeply. Even though it was only a dream, you feel as though clearing the smoke you inhaled does wonders for you. When you’re finished with your breathing exercises, you notice Yoongi.

The small cat is sitting just outside the door on a stump, paw raised and curled over his ear, tiny pink tongue sticking out as he froze. It appears you were not the only one with a bath on your mind.

“Good morning.” you greet.

The cat eyes you wearily but bows his head and returns the greeting in a small chittering before Hoseok is suddenly there, rounding the side of the house and blinking at you blearily.

“Good morning.” you say to him, hand automatically reaching out to rub his head. He strides closer to welcome the contact and watches your face with a patient expression. Yoongi jumps onto his back and brushes himself against the deer’s neck, leaning heavily on him. You can’t help but think of it as an act of jealousy for attention from the deer.

“Oh. Hobi, where can I go to bathe and wash my clothes?” you ask.

He walks forward, nudging his way past the door and into the house. You follow close behind, watching amused as Yoongi leaps off his back and onto the floor before sauntering to the empty bed and making himself at home within the mess of blankets.

The deer pulls a large towel off the arm of the chair and throws it over his own back. You watch as he gently nudges a pile of neatly folded cloths and plucks one from the middle, slinging it to join the larger one draped across himself.

He crosses the room to a small set of drawers near the bed and opens the top drawer with his teeth before turning to you and waiting. When you peer inside, there are small pucks that look like water stones, all smooth edges of varying oval shapes and different colors. A mixture of both floral scents and heavy wood scents wafts up to you and you realize that they’re soaps.

You can’t help the smile gracing your lips and the light flutter of warmth in your gut as you pluck one and inhale the light floral fragrance. There are flecks of what appears to be jasmine petals stuck inside. It calms your anxiety, a little less jumpy from the nightmare.

Hoseok uses his nose to shut the drawer and you two leave the house. A small pang of guilt pulls at you knowing how sleepy the typically energized deer seems to be.

You’ve been walking for quite a few minutes through thick canopy before you come to a body of water. It actually glows a deep blue as the bright light of the night sky reflects on its surface. A twisted Oak tree sits just on the edge of the bank with low branches that curl naturally over the top of the water.

Hoseok takes the smaller cloth from his back and pushes it into your hand, followed by the larger towel which he flings over a low branch with practices ease.

You watch him for a moment before your cheeks turn pink, realizing he is waiting for you to strip.

“You might be a deer right now but you’re still a man. Stop staring and turn around.” you say, flushing deeper scarlet.

A noise escapes him. One you’ve come to know as his laugh as he turns his back to you and stomps halfheartedly into the packed dirt.

Your eyes watch him for a moment longer. Glancing around the edges of the water, you make sure nobody is watching you before you pull your clothes off.

Hoseok’s ears jerk and move as he listens to you wading into the water. Only when you call for him does he turn around.

Immediately you take advantage of the low branch of tree that dips close to the water. You scrub the soap at your clothes and push them to hang over the branch in the water. There’s a faint current and you hum in satisfaction at the feel of your skin getting the love it needs while you scrub yourself with the soap with your slowly disappearing soap.

Hoseok still appears to be half asleep, and you watch him fondly as he curls up against the trunk of the tree and closes his eyes.

Time rolls by slowly as you relish the joy of a good bath and let the water pull away the anxiety and plagued thoughts with its gentle current. It feels incredible and before long you feel light as a feather, happily relaxed into a subspace that feels almost like you’re a little tiny bit tipsy. You don’t notice that the waters color glows a faint peach where it touches you and the color bleeds with the current, fading back to a natural blue.

You hear something, head whipping you back to Hoseok who is still unmoving as he naps beneath the tree. There is the sound of water being broken on the other side of the large Oak, and whatever it may be is obstructed from view.

Defensively, you crouch down into the water, only your head visible from the nose up. You don’t dare move as the sound continues and from the other side of the tree you see Namjoon wading slowly through the water.

His arms are extended at his sides, fingers splayed out as the pads of them softly disturb the surface where he drags them. You still have enough focus to notice the discoloration of his hands and forearms. The deepest black color at his fingertips and it lightens in shade as it works up to his elbows. It’s hard to see clearly, but you think there might also be flecks of silver on his hands. You think they’re magnificent.

Your eyes follow the color of his arms up, unobstructed until you realize he is naked save for the thin chain of silver around his neck as it hangs low between his pectorals. Your entire body instantly flushes, a powerful and pleasant thrill rolling languidly down your spine when you see his torso. You shake off the thought and watch him silently as his toned figure dips down and he disappears beneath the water.

He emerges a few seconds later up to his ribs, hands raking through his hair and across his face. Your heart pounds loudly in your ears and he turns, eyes landing directly on yours. They’re shining a iridescent purple.

It is then that you see with great confusion the way the water bleeds a pinkish color toward him from where you’re standing, and a dusty purple from where he stands.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but no words that come to mind seem like the right ones. Instead, you just move to leave, wading toward the bank and covering your breasts with an arm before you rise up to take the towel from the branch.

The intensity in his eyes stills you, “No, please...” he says quickly, his beautiful hands sunk under the surface. You still, sinking back to settle beneath the surface.

“Can we talk?” he asks from his place, turning toward you and taking a single step before stopping to wait for your answer. “Would that make you uncomfortable?” he realizes, head cocking to the side.

“Okay.” you say with a slight slur. Your senses are beginning to drift off a little more. The rational side of you is wary of another shut out, but that side seems to have taken a backseat for the moment. You have a strange feeling that this water is more than just water and the longer you soak in it, the farther and farther you feel yourself drifting.

Thankfully it is high enough to cover most of you. Only the very peak of the valley between your breasts is visible above the colored surface.

When Namjoon smiles and approaches you, he directly avoids looking at you, standing a respectable six feet away and face turned to the moon above. Your attention is captured by the low hanging moonstone pendant between his pectorals.

“I’m sorry.” he says lowly, fingers running through the surface of the water back and forth.

When you don’t speak, he chances a look and your eyes meet. The color and feel of them settling on you takes you back to the nightmare. The wolf’s torture reflecting back at you for real, and the strong lurch of their weight springs tears of emotion that spill quietly down your cheeks.

Namjoon’s hand jerks to a halt as it reaches for you, and you’re smart enough to have figured out why he can’t touch you. Why he won’t.

The colors of the water shift around you both, mixing into a beautiful swirl of richly colored blues and greens that bleed downstream with the current that carries them.

He doesn’t do anything more than smile gently at you, watching as you take a few moments to dry your eyes. You are distracted by the way the color surrounding his form shifts from that clover green to a calming periwinkle.

It is when you look back up to smile at him do you notice he isn’t beside you anymore. You catch the glinting of the moonstone pendant as it swings away from his chest with the force of his jump toward the higher branch of the twisted tree on the bank.

While you became increasingly less aware of your surroundings, you also forgot your clothes needed to be hung to dry. Namjoon is carefully plucking each piece from their place and wringing them out before snapping them out and jumping just enough to throw them over one side of the higher branch to dry.

Every emotion that manifests inside of you is intense, growing more so with every minute longer you stay in the water. The same goes for even the heady tingling of something exciting as you watch the muscles of his arms and back work to twist every drop of water from your clothes. The excitement increases with every jump he does to hang them up, the top of his backside visible for a split second with each stretch.

Your head feels like it’s pounding with the whiplash of emotions layering one after another that come and go, and you’re pretty certain this water has made you drunk on something. You knew you were emotional when you drank, but the intensity of the emotions flooding through you has never been this bad.

When he finishes and turns to you, the smile he is wearing is sheepish. As you stand there slack-jawed and staring, it turns into a devilish smirk with each step closer he takes.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks boldly, fingers playing in the now bright pink water surrounding you.

You’re unable to control how loose you feel as your tongue rolls out a reply. “You’re beautiful.” you say.

The smirk on the older man’s face is wiped away by your statement and his eyes are on your face, searching for something.

You watch closely, reading the several emotions that come and go across his handsome features. The silence between you makes the sound of crickets seem deafening.

You wanted to sort out this dream for yourself before telling him about it, but your tongue goes off forming words again without your consent, “I dreamed about you.” you start. The eye contact is broken as you look down at the water, twirling your fingers across its lavender surface.

He waits patiently for you to continue, “You were a wolf, and you were in...” you trail off, swallowing thickly to wet your dry throat.

“You were unable to control the power that flows from your hands.” you restart. Your head won’t lift to meet his gaze as you continue.

“It looked like it burned you and you were howling in such a way that it sounded like screaming.” Your fingers still play absentmindedly with the color changing water as it fades from purple to blue around him.

“That power was terrifying and I couldn’t do anything as I watched it envelop everything around you. When the flare of it was over you were weak and you looked at me, and-” you start, shaking your head.

You feel like you might cry, and you have you swallow the lump burning your throat, “Namjoon the pain in your eyes was so intense. I felt all of the torment behind them. I don’t know why, but I-” you say, disrupted by a drop into the water between you.

When you look up to his face you’re surprised and hurt all over again to see tears quietly rolling down his full cheeks and his lavender irises once again locked on the moon overhead.

Reaching up to brush away his tears, you stop, “Can I touch you?” you whisper gently.

His throat catches, adams apple bobbing and his voice cracks as he answers after a pause, “I don’t know.”

The sadness and uncertainty of his answer is not lost on you, but the understanding in your expressions gives him a moment to catch his breath and swallow.

“May I try?” you coax.

Namjoon searches for something in your face again, and he must find whatever he was looking for, because he lets you.

“Just not here.” He says, gesturing as he drags both of his arms out and away from you before holding them out at his sides above the water.

You’re sure to give him your best smile and move slowly. You’re unashamed about the exposure of your chest above the water as you reach up and step closer. The rational you feel like this is all happening too fast, but to the drunk you, it feels bold but right in this moment.   His eyelids slide shut and he doesn’t make any moves to spoil it.

You’re sure to be as considerate as possible when your hands rest on his full cheeks and your thumbs brush away the tears clinging to his lashes. You don’t miss the soft sigh that escapes him at human touch. You try but know you cannot begin to fathom how long it has been since he has experienced any human contact. It clenches your heart desperately.

“It’s okay.” you whisper to him. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips with your tender encouragement.

Eyebrows pinching together, you’re not sure if the pair of eyes staring back at you from the bank are real or not. Namjoon can feel your arms freeze where they brush his face and chest and his ears for sure pick up the sharp inhale of breath.

His eyes snap open and it’s as though his senses become less foggy, grounding him back on earth. His body twists to the side to follow you gaze to the fox sitting on the riverbank expectantly.

You still feel the heavy haze of being drunk but you are somewhat aware that the growl ripping from his throat should not sound arousing, nor should the feel of it as it rumbled his chest against your arms. Namjoon quickly steps into you fully to prevent the fox from seeing your naked form. The feel of his chest flush with yours causes a whine to pass over your parted lips.

He catches the sound and he takes a deep breath before stepping away from you in panic. “Fucking hell.” he breathes, turning to stalk as quickly as possible out of the water. The last thirty seconds leave your skin flushing hot and prickling cold all at once.

He turns to you before he leaves the water, “If you’re done bathing you should get out. This river is a magic sponge.” His voice is gruff and sullen. Namjoon doesn’t care that he is naked as he walks out of the water and disappears around the tree.

“Wait!” You call after him, the tugging in your chest urging you to follow. You grab the towel waiting for you on the branch and give the fox beside you a glare. It turns around as you climb out in your state of indecency.

Namjoon comes back a moment later wearing nothing more than a towel tied precariously around his hips. His clothes are folded in a neat stack and he shoves them at you quickly to avoid touching you with his bare hands.

“Please put these on.” he asks in a softer tone, refusing to look at you.

Hoseok looks between the both of you, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The fox watches with glittering amusement in his.

“Thank you.” You say after you’ve surrendered, expression dropping when you see your own clothes are still dripping into the river below from their hanging spot. You clutch your towel tighter around your body.

Namjoon and the fox exchange glances. Your head feels much clearer and you cough, “Um, could you please turn around?” you ask, feeling suddenly sheepish after all of the skin-ship you just shared.

Namjoon flushes and looks petulantly at the fox, “Seokjin, please.”

The fox appears to roll its eyes before it turns and a small black hole appears beside it, just large enough for the fox to jump through, vanishing completely.

You would normally be shocked by now, but somehow you’re more tired than anything as your lack of sleep and the emotions of the last hour catches up with you, “That was Seokjin?” you ask.

Namjoon nods his head, turning around to give you some privacy and running his hands through his hair, pushing his bangs up off of his forehead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you get out earlier. I didn’t realize how...” he trails off as he stands with his back to you, carefully working his wrappings back around each hand and arm.

“No. Do not be sorry, just be honest.” You say in reply. You’re not going to sit here and let him think that was a mistake. You can still feel something pulling you toward him. You’ve been able to feel it this whole time. The water only helped it along, and you don’t regret it.

Namjoon turns to you slowly, peering over his shoulder to make sure you’re decent. You’re standing still, staring right back at him, his shirt long enough to cover your thighs as you offer him back his pants so he has something to cover himself with decently.

He tries to defy you, opening his mouth with a stern expression before he shuts it and huffs, looking at the ground for a moment. Instead, he whispers, “Okay.” and  just smiles at the certainty and resolution in your stare. In his honesty you can’t help but feel the heat that reaches his eyes as they drop to your exposed legs and you can see the way his plush lower lip curls into his mouth between his teeth.

You can feel your cheeks go scarlet and you flounder for an excuse to get out of embarrassment. “Hoseok!” you nearly screech, shooting the bewildered deer a look and stalking off into the forest, “Lets go!”

Namjoon’s laughter behind you is loud and boisterous and a smile works its way over your lips as you walk away from him and the river. One last glance over your shoulder reveals him securing his pants and shaking his head, dimples in his cheeks as he smiles.

You heart pulls in you chest. Once again, with the beginnings of dawn enveloping the sky from the other side of the river, you are in awe of his beauty as the rays of early morning light catch his golden skin.

____________________________________

Once you’re fully dressed, the sun risen completely and Namjoon has returned to happily make breakfast for you both, you bask in the content of the moment. Today, you’re going to start learning your own Magic.

“Today we aren’t going to try to cast any magic.” he says as he joins you beside the fire pit. You had been smiling as you watched the embers slowly die, but it is replaced with a frown at his words.

Looking up at him, you feel a bit childish when you whine, “Why not?”

Namjoon’s dimples appear and his eyes turn into crescents as he smiles and shakes his head at you, “Because, all of your magic got sucked up by the Seponji. If you tried to cast Magic now it would be harmful to you.” You don’t miss the gentle way he says the last phrase with a worried crease in his brow.

“Well it isn’t my fault Hoseok thought it would be a good idea for me to take a bath in that water.” you say, shooting the deer in question a false glare when he stops what he’s doing to look at you, eyes burning with betrayal.

“Don’t worry, it will come back. It just takes time, and you need to learn what you’re doing before you go haphazardly casting Magic and wrecking havoc.” Namjoon says, nudging you with his foot before turning to walk back toward the house.

“Fine.” you sigh, rolling off of the hammock and quickly taking a few wide strides to match his pace. “So what are you going to teach me today?” Your hands fold behind you as you bend to peer at his face in your curiosity.

“I’m not going to teach you anything, but learning some Magic text will do you good.” he comments, opening the door and holding it for you.

You did love to read, and Namjoon is pleasantly surprised and all the more endeared with your sudden excitement about getting to read some ancient Magic texts. In your outburst of joy, you miss all of the ways he quickly tries to quell his rapidly-growing fondness for you.

You pick a stool and sit at the table as he instructs, pointing to different books and scrolls that you need to read.

“Can’t I just read all of it?” you ask with pleading eyes. Namjoon just blinks at you with wide eyes.

There’s that pulling in your heart when Namjoon can’t form words. He seems disbelieving but amazed, stunned into silence at your question.

Finally, he breathes out, “Yes.” The sound of glee you make in response hits his ears and drowns out the loud beating of his heart thundering against his ribs.

Getting comfortable on the high stool, you pick up one of the books and open it to rest the spine in the palm of your hand, enjoying the weight and the smell of it. You sit this way, as if time itself is standing still while you absorb what is written.

Occasionally, you use your index finger to hold your place and ask Namjoon a question. He comes to the table, standing behind you to read over your shoulder and help answer what you’re referencing.

A comfortable silence has stretched over the house while you read. Loud enough to make you look up in embarrassment, your stomach objects the silence with a loud growl, making the Warlock turn his attention to you, “Someone is getting hungry.”

"I can help if you would like?" you suggest, but Namjoon puts his hand up.

“No. You need to read. I’ll just be outside.” he says with a big yawn, stretching high. Of their own accord, your eyes greedily scan over the abdominals peeking out from his shirt as he reaches high above his head. Namjoon’s cheeks are tinged pink when he comes back to a normal position. He knows what he is doing, and he knows he is distracting you from absorbing much knowledge.

_____________________________________

After a fantastically filling meal, you settle back into your studies with a large scroll all about Magic Affinities. The tall male you’re cohabitating with sits on a lower chair and picks up his own book. From his pocket he pulls small piece of leather folded over a pair of glasses before placing them neatly over the bridge of his nose.

You smile at him warmly before turning back to your own search for knowledge, and it isn’t long before you notice the repetitive nodding of his head every few minutes. His eyes look tired and you understand that the Seponji must have taken quite a lot of his own Magic, too.

“Namjoon?” you ask softly. Curling around a scroll, your fingers twitch with the want to reach out and stroke his cheek or run your fingers over his hair to rouse him. Before you can give into the temptation, he is peering at you from over the book in his loose grasp with tired eyes.

A small laugh works its way from your lips as you ask, “Are you alright? Why don’t you go lay down?”

The spine of the book instantly smacks the table in his immediate agreement. He whips the glasses off of his nose before folding them back into their leather pocket and setting it on the table. Namjoon hums and smiles at you, carefully placing the old woven bookmark between the pages. He closes it and smooths his palm across the cover lovingly before turning back to you, “I’m normally asleep at this hour.” he admits.

The look on your face must mirror your shock and he has enough energy to tell you without having you ask.

“I’m on a nocturnal schedule. Moon Warlock and all.” he says with a fluttering of his fingers in the air and smirk that emphasizes the dashing flare of his Magic. It makes the blood in your veins sink to your center.

“Goodnight.” you say before any other exchanges can be had to distract you. Especially after this morning, you can nearly still smell his natural scent and feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. The memory of it all easily makes you flustered and frustrated.

Namjoon is asleep in less than ten minutes. Everything is fairly quiet and you find yourself fighting the sagging of your own eyelids before another hour has passed.

Then, it is with a sudden chill that you startle, jumping out of your skin. Above you, Namjoon lets out a surprised noise. You’re very comfortable but confused as you blink away some sleepiness to take in your situation. You were very certain you fell asleep while reading.

Namjoon has wrapped a large blanket around you and you’re being carried toward the bed. He must have picked you up, and although it is very nice, it is also alarming and you struggle to free yourself.

“Namjoon what are y-” is all your froggy throat can manage when he cuts you off.

His voice is equally unused when he whispers, “Please. Just let me do this.” He is resolute in his determination not to meet your eyes until he carefully sets you down among the linens.

You’re thankful for the large blanket wrapped around you as you bury your face in it, hiding the pink of your cheeks to him. He still looks tired, but you’re not sure how long he slept. The sun has begun to set so you can conclude it has been a few hours.

“You still need to sleep. You look tired.” you say, gauging why he brought you to the bed if he still needed it. More internal debates happen and Namjoon has to stifle a chuckle as he watches you battle with yourself.

“I’m used to getting up at this time so my internal clock woke me up. Besides,” he begins with a frown, “You shouldn’t be falling asleep on a stool and drooling all over my scrolls.”

You blanche immediately and the reaction has him rolling with loud laughter. “I do not drool!” you screech. Even you flinch at the sound of your own voice.

It takes him a moment to collect himself, feigning to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’m only kidding.”

There’s a pregnant pause where you’re not quite sleepy enough anymore to immediately forget the world and where Namjoon doesn’t want to remove himself from the foot of the bed.

“Hey.” you call his attention quietly. He had begun mulling something difficult over in his head, that much you could tell. It was too painful to watch the frustration on his face, fists balled into the sheets.

The lines across his forehead instantly relaxes at your attention. “How could you carry me over here if you never want to touch me?” you ask.

You’re too tired to deal with beating around the bush right now and you’re not sure if the alarm written on his face is because of your bold question or general surprise at the content of this conversation topic.

In the time it takes Namjoon to answer, you study him. The way his hair falls over his forehead, and the way his plush bottom lip curls in and he flattens his chin while he thinks. The beauty marks in his skin, your favorite already being the one on his chin.

He sighs heavily, nodding as he turns to you fully, “My Magic... this curse. It only affects two things. One is the living. Any,” he says with emphasis, “Living thing. Including plants and the earth itself. However, it only works if I’m touching it directly.”

He trails off with pink cheeks and averted eyes, fiddling with a stray thread on his pant leg, “So, I was able to pick you up because of this.” he mutters with a tug to the corner of the blanket.

“These wrappings were made with Magic. They help greatly to temper the output and let me control it mostly. There’s still always a chance though...” his voice gets quieter until it stops and his brow furrows deeply again.

One deep breath and he moves on, “The second requirement is that whatever is affected by me has to be solid. So it doesn’t work in water.” His eyes are calm with the storm having passed.

The Warlock before you notices you nodding, and in his pause you query, “Is that why your hands were not wrapped in the Seponji?”

Namjoon is oddly tight-lipped, the bob of his head your only confirmation. It suddenly dawns on you that he is nervous. You saw them.

“I think they’re captivating.” you say honestly.

“You mean devastating.” he corrects promptly, and you kick him in the thigh from your cocoon. “No, I like them a lot.”

His bashful smile reaches his eyes this time at your compliment, “Ah, well your honesty is refreshing. Thank you."

“Speaking of Seponji...” you cough and it is your turn to avert your eyes, “Can you tell me what the hell that is all about? I’ve never heard of any Magical bodies of water, anywhere.” you say.

Namjoon’s cheeks are as pink as yours, remembering the drunken haze and shared skin-ship from your bath. “Ah,” he begins before a laugh passes his lips and he runs a hand through his hair, “That is because Seokjin made it for me. That water is made to suck up Magic. Since my power is so difficult to control, he aligned the right stars to bless that river and give it Magic. Or really, a portion of it. Just a mile's worth.” he says simply.

You don’t know anything about Seokjin the fox other than the fact that he in indeed a Warlock trapped in a fox’s body.

He continues, “The downside with any leeching type of Magic is that it distorts your consciousness. It makes you feel like you’ve been drinking depending on how much Magic it takes from you. It also amplifies emotions, which is why the color changes based on emotions. It is a visual tool.” he confirms, fingers playing absentmindedly at the hair beginning to grow on his jawline.

“I thought it was something like that, considering...” you reply, trailing off to smile at your own recollection.

“So, hypothetically speaking, what would happen if someone else touched your hands? Does it have to be you initiating for your power to work or does it not matter?” The curiosity has gotten the best of you, but Namjoon seems to be calm enough to give you answers for the moment.

“Ah, no, it doesn’t matter. If someone touches my hands they will die.” he says with a sullen expression.

You feel sad for him but also a little mischievous, “But someone could touch other parts of you and live, like I did.” you say.

He nods quietly until you continue, “And you could touch someone with anything other than your hands.”

Namjoon’s head snaps to attention at your logic and his eyes slowly widen, mouth parting.

You’re both surveying the other openly and the man in front of you takes a massive gulp of air, licking his lips while staring at yours.

You can’t help the yawn that breaks from your throat. It serves to break the tension for the moment, “You should lay back down if you’re tired.” he says quietly, averting his eyes.

“Can I get on a nocturnal schedule, too?” you inquire. You’re being genuine and the returning smile Namjoon gives you makes your heart flutter softly.

“As flattering as that is, for now I think it is best if we have opposing sleep schedules. Unless you want your own bed, in which case I can bu-” he begins but you cut him off quickly with firm disapproval. Neither of you deny the insinuation that you’ll hopefully share the same bed someday.

“I can’t go having any nightmares with you sleeping right beside me. What if I accidentally kill you? These wrappings help and my Magic is definitely weaker during the day when I sleep, but that’s still a potential possibility I am not willing to risk.” he explains.

You nod, settling back into the pillows, “But what if you don’t have any nightmares?”

Namjoon knows you’re playing to rile him up now, sucking in sharply through his teeth. Just as quickly as you would expect of his wolfish reflexes, he is hovering over you.

He smirks at you and dips his head into your neck, close enough to feel his warm breath. You close your eyes and wait for something, anything. You’ve never been one very interested in these sorts of activities, but this man has you willing to do whatever it takes if he will just touch you.

All he does is bring his face back to yours. The apples of his cheeks are bright as he commits to memory the look of pure desire written across your face. You’re watching him in return, enraptured with the pretty color of his natural eyes. It is now you notice there are flecks of honey color in the deep brown.

He quickly brings his forehead to press into yours, his breath fanning across your face, “This is so frustrating.” he whispers with a smile, eyes closed. His voice sounds hoarse even through the light tone. Instead of kissing you like you wanted, he nudges his nose into yours before sitting up entirely and running a hand through his hair.

Perfectly timed as if he was not waiting just outside the door and could hear everything, Hoseok pushes the front door open, head peering inside. Yoongi is sitting on his head, and you could swear that his expression is that of judgement.

Taehyung and the latest member, Seokjin accompany Hoseok into the house. Both you and Namjoon are a little melancholy about everything, but try to smile at the group as you give each other some distance. Hoseok notices your mood and immediately comes to comfort you by laying his head across the bed to look at you cutely.

Yoongi jumps off of his head and crosses the bed to lay in Namjoon’s lap while Taehyung nudges himself along Namjoon’s legs as they hang over the edge of the bed, purring loudly.

It takes great effort but you manage to pull your arm free of the blankets to scratch Hoseok behind the ears.

” I wish I could talk to you.” you convey to the deer. He nuzzles deeper into your palm to state his agreement.

Namjoon immediately gets up, setting Yoongi down on the floor. Everyone watches momentarily as he plucks a book and a series of scrolls from a shelf before returning and planting them at the foot of the bed for you.

“You can learn. Hoseok can help you.” he clarifies, gesturing to the pile of notes. You thank him, sitting up to take one of the scrolls in your hand and get started.

Taehyung makes a sound of disapproval and whines at Namjoon. There’s a brief pause.

“That’s not polite, Yoongi hyung.” he declares, eyeing the leopard cat. In one motion Namjoon scoops him up off the floor and Yoongi tolerates him playing with his toe beans. You silently observe the cat, who begins to purr loudly and relax the longer Namjoon holds his tiny paws.

“But you didn’t speak to him, did you?” you ask.

Namjoon looks at you with wild eyes for a moment, having to think back to what just transpired. Apparently he didn’t even realize, as he says, “Oh, Yoongi is telepathic, so I don’t have to speak to him to hear him.”

It is interesting to hear such a thing, although things get more and more strange every day you’re with these Warlocks.

“So why can’t I ever hear him?” you ask curiously.

Yoongi replies for himself in your head, “Because I don’t have anything to say to you.”

Ouch. Harsh, but he isn’t wrong. You shrug, “Fair enough.”

Taehyung looks all the more distraught at you getting to speak with anyone other than Namjoon before himself.

You laugh at his clear distress, “Don’t worry Tae, I’ll still learn it so I can talk to you.” The tiger in question shoves Hoseok in the rear until he nearly kicks him in the face and moves, clambering up on the bed beside you.

Taehyung replaces him at the side of the bed, purring loudly and clearly looking for your attention as you scratch him with both hands.

The fox makes a pointed swish of his tail in the silence that ensues, capturing the attention of the human forms among the party.

“Ah, yes. This is Seokjin. You two uh...” Namjoon begins, scratching at his chin before laughing, “You met earlier.”

“The fox who can align the stars themselves. What incredible Magic.” you muse, more to yourself, but the fox bows regally at your praise anyway.

“Jin is royalty, so you’ll have to forgive his extravagant everything.” Namjoon says with mirth in his voice.

Seokjin snaps his attention to Namjoon and his eyes go wide as if he has some complaint in reply. The exchange is cute, nonetheless.

Just as things are settling again, there’s a singing from the other side of the door, accompanied by a rapid low thumping.

“They’re back already, that was fast.” Namjoon comments to the room, setting Yoongi on the bed to answer the door.

The moment there is enough open space a small yellow bird and a brown rabbit are bolting and buzzing into the house and right up to you.

”Guys, don’t crowd her, please.” Namjoon’s stern voice commands, and the two back off and calm down. The bird nestles into the top of the tiger’s head, who looks up at him with an adoring expression. The rabbit stays beside Yoongi on the bed, raised on his hind legs with ears back.

“Who are they?” you ask.

Namjoon’s chest appears to swell as he counts them all, making sure each of his friends are here before answering you.

“I suppose now is the best time to introduce you. I’m assuming you want to know everyone’s Magic?” he says pointedly, laughing at your sheepish nodding and clapping hands.

“It’s alright.” He assures, “I know you're curious, so I already asked.”

“Well,” he starts, pointing to Hoseok, “You already know that hyung and what his Magic is. Same goes for this one.”

His fingers gently tap Taehyung on the back as he says it. They move to point to at Seokjin, “This is the eldest, Seokjin. His Magic is Celestial. Very powerful, special Magic. He can tell you about it later.” Namjoon says quickly as the fox begins to take what he assumes is center stage for a demonstration.

You laugh at his clearly appalled expression.

The handsome man continues pointing his fingers towards his friends, pausing briefly on Yoongi, “Yoongi hyung is second oldest. His Magic is Wisdom. Sounds different, but is actually very versatile. He has Foresight, Fortunes and Telepathy all within his grasp.” The cat looks at you plainly before moving to Hoseok and stepping between his front legs to lay down.

“The newest additions,” Namjoon continues his speech, “Are Jimin, possessor of Heaven Magic, or in some realms, Sky Magic. He is Blessed and has the ability to Shape shift.”

The little yellow bird sings a happy tune and opens his beak so wide to mimic a smile his eyes close into crescents. You're immediately endeared with him.

“And Jungkook, the maknae. His Magic is Elemental, with a high affinity for fire. As a hare, although not quite part of his Magic, grants him incredible speed.”

The young rabbit looks at you curiously still, only startling away when you reach out a hand too quickly and he jumps from the bed.

For a moment you look upset until Namjoon steps in and settles your worries, “It’s okay. He is very shy, he will warm up don’t worry. He's actually quite excited to meet you.”

You smile in return at the rabbit as it peeks from behind Namjoon’s legs with both ears raised, nose and whiskers twitching. A few beats of silence passes where nobody seems to know what to do. Eventually, Namjoon just laughs and shakes his head. When you look up at him with a questioning stare he finally moves.

“Please excuse us, as we have to have a small meeting now that they’ve returned. Hoseok can stay here with you and study if you like?” he asks.

Nodding your head in response, you untie the string holding the scroll closed before rolling it open across your lap. The remaining five anthropomorphic beings follow their leader toward the door, who gives you one last parting smile before he closes it quietly behind him.

[treecellsystems-blog]

Secret Shortcuts to Root Protection That Only the Pros Know About

If construction will be comparatively near important trees, additional measures might be required. You'll cross bridges which were grown. In the wettest place in the Earth, you won't cross bridges which were built. In case the root bridge isn't on the course towards a specific destination, the traffic isn't going to go through it. It does not perform any specific task with respect to data flow or delivery. If you aren't certain what a spanning-tree root bridge is or the way that it gets elected, you probably must brush up on that first. What's more, a couple of new root bridges are under construction.

Damaging facets to the well-being of tree roots incorporate incorrect planting and excessive mulching. The primary aim of Spanning Tree Protocol (STP) is to be certain that you don't create loops whenever you have redundant paths in your network. One of the simplest and most helpful approaches to protect sensitive plants is by mulching. There is likewise the need to factor in the sort of trees. Whether to fertilize after the job is completed, is contingent on the damage done to the tree. Even if your work doesn't require planning permission, you must still think about the affect your work could have on trees. Our arboriculturists local authority planning experience along with their extensive practical backgrounds allows them to present pragmatic advice tailored to our customers' needs.

Vital Pieces of Root Protection

A failed application can be exceedingly costly and a great arboricultural consultant can help you to attain the most potential from your website. Anyone submitting a planning application where trees are affected should make sure that they seek advice from a proper expert adviser, to decrease the likelihood of delay by using their application. The watering procedure shouldn't be a problem in the slightest. Behind the scenes some things are changed to hasten the process, configuration-wise it's the exact same as what you have seen up to now. It's possible to override root selection process by altering the priority value. The system is also appropriate for the building of temporary solutions where vehicular accessibility to a website is limited by the existence of trees. The main system should not be permitted to dry out at any moment.

The Chronicles of Root Protection

If soil removal gets absolutely necessary, grade changes ought to be limited to areas away from the branch spread of trees. Tree removal is frequently the only answer and the stump needs to be ground to avoid the continued development of roots. Although their installation is regarded as expensive and complicated, it cannot be compared to the large contribution that the green roofs have.

The War Against Root Protection

Cold weather Root Protection and plant protection is often as easy as a blanket. Obviously it isn't always possible to catch sight of a damage in that moment of delivery and thus don't worry. Frequently, by the time the damage gets evident, the developer can no longer have the website, leaving the new owner with the issue and the possible demand for costly tree work.

The 30-Second Trick for Root Protection

If water erosion is an issue, grassed waterways can be constructed to prevent gullies. What's more, when soil is rewetted it is going to swell again causing the foundation to come back to its original position. Many kinds of commercial soil don't have enough aeration and often clump up and lack aeration. Sandy soil doesn't retain water well, so deep water might not be helpful. Thereafter, watering ought to be carried out thoroughly and infrequently.

Up in Arms About Root Protection?

If roots will be exposed for at least one hour, cover roots with a damp cloth. Tree roots grow very near the surface and are the reason behind substantial damage. In order to earn a rubber tree's roots grow in the correct directionsay, over a riverthe individuals of southern Meghalaya have used several unique strategies.

The Do's and Don'ts of Root Protection

Trees should be watered a day or two before work is to begin and again whenever possible after the job is finished. Many trees are cut down needlessly just since they were nearby. Diseased trees increase the possibility of loss. Such trees shouldn't be believed to be a constraint against development and their removal will usually be acceptable. Potted trees deliver many advantages to the home gardener. Trees have an extensive root system that's required to keep the well-being of the tree. Landmark trees are safeguarded in every area of all zones, on private in addition to public property.

A soil test might be needed. Likewise soil tests may give you further insight about how to create optimal conditions for plant development. Plant tissue tests ought to be done determine the particular needs of your crops so that it is possible to fertilize accordingly.

[specialmindz]

“LOOK SNAS! Weaves.” Papyrus held out his gloves to show his brother the handful of wet leaves he had picked off the ground, wearing a big smile…though it was a tad TOO big for Sans liking…  

“yep, those are leaves all right...you’re not gonna eat those are ya’?”

“Course’ not stink head,” said the baby bones, slightly insulted. “Unlike you big Buther, I knows the difference between clothes and food. You think the baby be stupid?”

“i don’t eat trees and those aren’t clothes. trees don’t wear leaves to stay warm, otherwise they wouldn’t be on the ground come winter.”

“They’re hats Snas, and hats are clothes. Twees doesn’t wear them during winter cause’ they all worn out,” Papyrus picked up a leaf. “See dis leaf? It gots holes in it. Not good. They needs new hats.”

“no they don’t, the leaves collect sunlight for them so they can get energy, pappy. There’s holes in them because insects are eating them.”

Apparently, he thinks I’M stupid…

“Not erybody a twee-eating woah-bot Snas…sides’ we’s underground silly bones!”

“i’m not-”

“And the sun don’t go out in winter! Nyeh heh heh!”

Sans gave his brother a look, but stayed silent. He knew full well that his younger sibling was just waiting for him to argue so he could start some kind of drama and he wasn’t going to give the infant the satisfaction. Papyrus knew about the sun lamps that hung from the mountain ceiling and if he wanted to pick a fight about something that stupid, he was going to have to try a little harder than that.

I wish he’d put his energy to good use…I know he’s just a baby, but he’s smart right? He could do some real good for the Underground if he’d just try. Why does he wanna act stupid and annoy people all the time?

“We should be good baes and get the twees some new hats before someone cut them down,” said Papyrus, pulling Sans out of his thoughts. “They moves real slow ya’ know? Like Charlie. I bet Dirt-Butt knows where the hat store be! Is probably in one of those tunnels…a kiosk if baby had to guess.”

Oh yeah, Flowey! I forgot about him, he hasn’t visited us in a while.

Maybe Papyrus ISN’T trying to start a fight after all…maybe he thinks since Flowey’s a monster, ALL plants are monsters…they just can’t talk like he can.

Still feels like he’s messing with me though, why call the leaves hats instead of hair? They grow on top of the trees like hair and hair falls out and I even heard it gets damaged…

An image of Undyne arguing with her mother flashed through his mind. She got in trouble often because she wouldn’t put her hair up before swimming and usually ended up with leaves and other grasses Sans wasn’t familiar with tangled in her bright red locks.

One day she might make a habit of putting it in a ponytail of some sort, but for now, her hair was too short for her to care too much. She was never one to care about her physical appearance; if it wasn’t slowing her down in the water or getting caught on stuff, Undyne simply didn’t and wouldn’t care no matter how much her mother screamed at her.

I’m glad I don’t have hair. As pretty as it is, it looks hard to take care of.

Where is Undyne anyway? She was supposed to meet us here…

“SNAS!”

“huh?” Sans stopped daydreaming and looked down to find a very annoyed baby bones glaring up at him. Apparently, he had missed a question…that, or an entire conversation.      

“uh, sorry. what’s a kiosk?”

“*Sigh* Is a tiny shop dat sells tiny things,” replied the baby holding his fingers close together. “I was talkin’ bout’ how there might be one that sells hats for da’ twees in one of those tunnels.”

“you mean the dog tunnels?”

“Yep! Is a good hiding pace cause’ lossa peoples think branches are the twee’s arms, but is really their roots. They use them to walk and grab stuffs from underground like Dirt-Butt, but you probly already knowed that. Hippie’s be one wit da’ nature! You’s keeping the twee store a secret right? Cause’ is illegal? You help the twees a widdle and they give you a munch on da’ side?”

“what the hell are you talking about papyrus?” asked Sans completely lost.

“You’s leading peoples astray wit yo’ cwazy talk about twees having solar powers so that no one will cut them down and in return, they let you eat their hats.”

Oh good, it’s another one of his conspiracy theories. Those don’t get old at all.

“the only one talkin’ crazy here is you baby bro. i don’t know how dad made you, but something went very wrong.”

“Nope, I’s right all right. You just gots da’ trust issues. You think I’s gonna tell erybody about the store, so you’s lying with the deceit!” exclaimed the baby pointing his finger at his brother accusingly. “Don’t know why you think baby would do dat, I’s always been nice to you and I’s ALWAYS honest, but-”

“bullcrap you’re honest! ain’t nothing ‘honest’ about you!”

“If daz what you think, then your memory be worse then the baby’s!”

“n-”

“You should go ask Daddy to fix yo’ memory brain big Buther.”

Okay he DOES want to start a fight.

“my memory’s fine and you know it. you lie about everything. you told me the mountain was made out of dinosaur poop!”

“It is!”

“it’s not.”

“Is too! Daz why all mountains are big and pointy and stuffs grow on them. Is cause’ doody be good fer-ti-lizer. Dis mountain don’t smell no more cause’ is been a gazillion years is all…”

“you’re so full of crap.”

“Nuh uh, ask the baby bear dat lives here, he know! He tell me humans climb doody mountains like dis allll the time looking for bears, so they can injects em’ with stuff dat turns them into candies.”

“i doubt he even knows you.”

“He do, he know me and he tell da’ baby dat the serum stuffs make all their fur fall out and turns their bodies into gummies. It shrink them too Snas! Like, reeeal small, till’ they can fits in yo’ hand. Humans call the candies Gummy Bears and they puts em’ on their nice cream.”

“gummy bears huh? shame. that’s not a very creative name pap, and you were telling such a great lie too.”

“I’s NOT lying! I gots poof, see?” Papyrus pulled a bag of…something, out of his jacket and held it up proudly. “It say ‘Gummy Bears’ and inside be widdle dead bears that got caught stealing pic-i-nic baskets. Dis what bears get for stealing big Buther…they doesn’t go to jail cause’ they strong enough to bend da’ bars.”

“eww! put that down papyrus, it’s dripping!”

“NO! These MY gummies! Go find yo’ own Snas!”

SCRUF SCRUF SCRUF SCRUF!

Papyrus ran through the snow as best a baby bones could in a vain attempt to protect his gummies from his hungry hippo brother, but the snow was FAR too deep for such a tiny thing like him he realized, as he noticed Sans walking beside him nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets.

Fine then, Plan B.

Rolling onto his back, he began kicking in the air, holding onto his bag of candy protectively. “If you think taking candies from dis baby gonna be easy, we’ll see what you think after yo’ teeths go missing, NYEH!”

“you’re gonna get sick bro.”

“I PUT YOU IN DA’ MEDICAL WING FIRST! You weave mah gummies alone stink buther, YOU GOTS YOUR HATS!”

Teleporting behind his sibling, Sans grabbed the bag with the shrieking baby bones still attached. He didn’t know HOW Papyrus had managed to eat so many things from the Dump without getting sick, but the comedian’s paranoia was starting to get to him. Monsters that couldn’t handle the poisonous fumes from the volcano in Hotland were dropping like flies and being sent to their Medical Ward in the lab, never to return; in fact, NO sick monsters were returning from the Medical Ward, despite some of their illnesses not being all that serious.

It’s because we’re so low on magic crystals.

The medicines we use are made from plants that need sun lamps like these to live, but without the crystals to provide the electricity...

“…i hope WE don’t get sick…”

Papyrus stopped screaming for a second. “Nyeh?”

Uh oh, what was Sans thinking about NOW? Obviously, his mind was no longer on the bag of Gummy Bears…or on how cruel he was being, taking candies away from cute little skelly babies such as himself.

He seemed to be fixated on the sun lamps above them, glowing dimly, definitely not as bright as last month. Papyrus didn’t really know how the lamps worked, or at least he didn’t remember anyway, but he knew why they were dim. They had to turn the power down to conserve what little energy they had left.    

“Why you worried bout’ the fake suns Snas? You still gots da’ fake sparklies in Waterfall…”

“*sigh* you…you don’t understand bro. the plants we use…they need these lights to live. if they go out, we won’t have any more medicine or even foo-”

Oh shit.

“GASP! NO FOOD?!”

“papyrus.”

Aw crap, I shouldn’t have said anything.

“BUT YOU NEEDS FOOD!” exclaimed Papyrus, dropping to the ground and putting his hands to his cheekbones. “WHAT YOU GONNA DO IF THERE NO PLANTS FOR YOU TO MUNCH HIPPIE WOAH-BOT BABY? YOU CAN’T WIVE OFF MILK LIKE I DOS!”

“you don’t live off milk, i’ve seen you eat other…you were just trying to eat this garbage!”

“Don’t worry Snas! We gonna go find Dirt-Butt and get him to tell the twees the sit-u-ation-”

“I DON’T EAT TREES!”

“We gonna get him to tell the twees in their language that times have changed. Like an old diaper, IS TIME TO DO AWAY WITH PAST TRADITIONS AND WELCOME DA’ NEW!”

“what the hell are you talking about?”

“NO LONGER SHALL THEY LIVE THEIR WIVES AS NUDISTS!” cried Papyrus, pumping his fist into the air.

“the hell do you know what a nudist is? we don’t watch videos like that!”

“NO LONGER SHALL THEY ACCEPT BEING TREATED LIKE SECOND CLASS PEOPLES AND DEPEND ON OUR FAKE SUNS FOR WARMTH!”

“iii don’t think you understand how trees OR sun lamps work baby bro…”

“THEY SHALL FIGHT FOR THEIR INNAPENDENCE! Tell em’ Dirt-Butt.”

“WE SHALL FIGHT FOR OUR INDEPENDENCE!”

“NO, no one’s fighting ANYONE, and get outta here flowey! where’d you even come from?!”

Poking his head out from behind a tree, Flowey leapt up onto a nearby stump and began his trademark wiggling dance, equipped with a smile. “I heard the brat say my name a couple minutes ago. Usually, that means something terrible is about to befall me in the near future, so I thought I’d stick around and learn what that something was beforehand, so as to avoid any trauma…wasn’t aware this was a pep rally though.”

“it’s not. like i said, no one’s fighting anybody, pap’s just being dumb.”

“YOU DUMB! They are gonna fight Snas! monsters be cutting power from the high lamps so big peoples can have their coffee, and they cuts twees down for firewood if their hats not pretty enough! DIRT-BUTT’S PEOPLE BE OPPRESSED!”

“YEAH SMILEY, MY PEOPLE ARE OPPRESSED!”

“THEY WANTS EQUAL RIGHTS!”

“WE WANT VENGENCE!”

“THEY WANTS RESPECT!”

“WE WANT BLOOD!”

“THEY WANTS A BRIGHTER FOOTURE FOR THEIR BABIES!”

“WE WANT A NEW WORLD ORDER!”

“you two are NOT on the same page.”

“DOWN WIT DA’ RACIST MONSTERS AND THEIR RACIST WAYS! VIVA REVOLUTION!”

“viva-what…?”

“GENOCIDE GENOCIDE!!”

RUSTLE!

RUSTLE!

“Hm?” Flowey turned his head towards a tree that had yet to lose most of its leaves upon hearing something rustling within. Squinting his eyes didn’t do him a bit of good in finding out just who the shadowy figure lurking amongst the branches was, but the text that appeared when they spoke…and the voice that accompanied it, were all the hints he needed to get him rolling them in IMMEDIATE annoyance.

“GET THE HELL OFF ME PEDO-TREE! LET GO OF MY HAIR!”

Oh good, it’s Fish Breath. I was waiting for someone to ruin my day…

“Nyeh? Where you going Dirt-Butt?”

“GODDAMNIT!”

“Yeaah, I forgot, the trees and I juust passed this new law that says no hanging out with dorks…sucks huh?”

“…”

“…”

“Oh don’t you two look at me like that! You know I voted against it, but we plants run a democracy sooo…duces dorks! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

And with that, Flowey vanished into the ground just as Undyne came tumbling down the tree.

“OOF!”

“undyne!” Sans dropped the bag of gummies and ran over to help her up. “don’t touch that bag bro! undyne, are you alright?”

“Ow…STUPID TREE! YOU’RE LUCKY ALL THESE HATS BROKE MY FALL OR I’D KICK YOUR ASS!”

Sans stopped.

“Um, hello? Aren’t you gonna help me up? I’M A LADY DAMNIT!”

“*Mamph* I’ll helps you *gulp* Fish Lady!”

“I’m just kidding Papyrus, I’m okay, I’m fi-no…no Papyrus, don’t-don’t touch me, go. Go. Over. There. Go to your brother.”

“You wants some of these candies? They’re good…”

“No, they smell gross and they’re dripping with gay water,” said Undyne, pushing Papyrus towards Sans.

“Is okay! I heard-ed somewhere that the rainbow water only affects froggets…”

“pappy-”

“Why? Because they’re water monsters? Well so am I, so I can’t eat stuff from the Dump.” She looked around the wooded area. “Where’s that one guy that was shouting about homicide? I know there was someone else here!”

Did he climb up a tree like I did?

“genocide, not homicide. Flowey left awhile ago. As soon as you fell out of that tree as a matter of fact…why WHERE you up there anyway?”

“I was on a stakeout, looking for that one kid that likes to get mad at people when they don’t find him funny. Snowdrake or whatever his name is.” She scanned the area again with her one good eye; there was DEFINITELY someone else here before. She wouldn’t mistake an annoying high-pitched voice like that for Sans or even Papyrus.

Where could they have gone so quickly?

“what, snowdrake? why?! snowdrake isn’t a criminal! he gets mad when people don’t like his puns, but he doesn’t ATTACK people!”

Often…

Undyne glared at him, but Sans refused to back down. Snowdrake was one of the few people he HOPED he could become friends with in time. He didn’t seem to care about how dangerous his little brother was, only that Sans enjoyed his jokes. Apparently, his father was a comedian and had been for several years, but the two didn’t get along because of one singular problem Snowdrake had. He didn’t understand comedy. He enjoyed puns like Sans, but he couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of what they were for and he often got angry whenever people didn’t find him funny.

To be honest, his temper tantrums were an embarrassment to Sans, but he hoped in time he’d grow out of it, and he damn sure wasn’t going to ruin everything by ratting him out to Undyne so she could play hero…  

“HE’S DISTURBING THE PEACE SANS! HE’S DISTURBING THE PEACE OF OUR PEACEFUL COMMUNITY AND MUST BE BROUGHT TO JUSTICE! Though it sounds like I found an even BIGGER problem in our community…”

“a bigger problem?”

“A poacher of endangered monsters! Where did this genie-killer go Sans? YOU HAVE TO TELL ME OR YOU’RE AN ACCOMPLICE!”

The Font stared at her for a moment, torn between being relieved that her attention had been drawn elsewhere and being annoyed with having to once again deal with another big plate of stupid so early in the morning. “what genie-killer? genies don’t even exist. i said GENO-cide, not genie-cide. you heard wrong.”

“I don’t think so. Another name for genies is ‘djinn’ and it’s pronounced the same way. I’m not stupid Sans! I don’t read nerd books, but I study the law and stuff! GEN-ocide or DJINN-ocide, however you want to spell it, is the murder of GENIES-”

“no.”

“And genies are a rare breed of ghost monster that possess an object and come out only to grant wishes-”

“no.”

This is a VERY big plate of stupid.

“THAT’S why poachers are after them. If bad people make bad wishes, it could destroy the world, so they hunt them down. Your friend might THINK he’s doing everyone a favor, but he’s still a murderer if he kills one-”

“genies do not exist.”

“*Nom* Nowheres but the Middle East anyways.”

“…”

“…”

“…what?”

Papyrus reached into his bag. “The word ‘djinn’ is Arabic. That mean genies come from da’ Middle East…dat’s where Egypt be big Buther. Is in da’ middle of the earth…but also a widdle east,” he popped a gummy into his mouth. “I doesn’t know if they come from Saudi Arabia or Iraq, but they definitely not live here. They be used to desert environments ya’ know? It be too cold in da’ Massachusetts.”

“How did you spell that…?”

“the only word i recognize there is ‘egypt.’ that…place you keep talking about.”

“Well maybe if you read-ed books about our panet instead of about sparklies all the time, you’d know somethin’.”

“we don’t HAVE books like that.”

Not even in the library. Everyone left for Mt. Ebott at such short notice, they just brought what they had on them. Most of the books come from what the kids had in their backpacks when they…

Wait a minute…

“Daddy do. He gots allll da’ info on stuffs. He taked all the important books out the library for himself and the baby! He say the bigger I gets, the more memories I lose, so I gots to read lots! He say I can’t let YOU read them though, cause’ you might leave and travel da’ world without me, but I know you not do that. You can read mah books whenever you wants ALL you wants…”

“wait hold on, you have a memory problem?”

This was news to Sans.

Assuming it wasn’t a lie of course.

It was true he hadn’t been paying much attention to Papyrus much to his shame, what with worrying about their future and all, but when he did, he noticed there WERE, in fact, instances where he would question his baby brother’s intellect, or at the very least, his mind.

There was once a time when Sans and paranoia were inseparable. He would question everything his brother said and did, knowing he was the Lying Font, and always assuming Papyrus was messing with him, he would prepare for the worst or simply flat out ignore the baby bones; but things had long since changed. Nowadays, it was difficult to tell whether or not the infant believed his own lies and that made weeding them out in general that much more difficult. His father warned him:

“Papyrus is the king of deceit. As he grows older his lies will become more intricate and deadly."

An intimidating message that seemed less laughable as the months flew by.

He thought it’d be easy…for HIM at least, to tell when his brother was lying, because he spent the most time with him, but the reality was, his sibling was changing right before his eyes and Sans couldn’t decide if he was getting dumber or cleverer. According to his father, the Papyrus fonts were the world’s greatest actors because they were METHOD actors; walking, talking, even thinking like the characters they tried to portray. They were the only people on earth who could pretend to be somebody else for years if not forever without going completely insane, because they had no set personality and weren’t aware that they’re lying not only to everyone around them, but to themselves included…but SANS’ brother had Wingdings, meaning there was enough there…enough personality to have a second font anyway, and that drove the comedian insane.

I know my bro’s a genius; he knows about trees.

DOES he have a memory problem?

Did he forget what leaves are? Or how sun lamps work?

…

Or is he just pretending to be an ordinary baby who doesn’t understand how the WORLD works yet?

He’s lying. He has to be lying. He’s lying right? He’s just pretending to have memory problems so his future lies will seem more innocent. “Oh, I didn’t MEAN to lie when I said the wind on the surface sometimes picked up houses and threw them at people big Brother! I just forgot how wind works cause’ I have memory issues!”

Lying little shit.

…

…

He’s lying right?

“…for real pap, do you really have memory problems?”            

“Yep. I used to know erything a baby needed to know to be big, but now there be things I gots to understand all over again. It suck monkey big Buther…” Papyrus looked sad, but Sans couldn’t tell if it was because he was telling the truth, or because he had run out of those disgusting gummies of his. The infant tilted the bag upside down, spilling the garbage juice within onto the snowy ground near his boots. “All gone…nyeh…”

“ugh…bro…”

Seriously, what’s in that baby formula of his?!

“EWW! WHY’D YOU DO THAT? SANS GET YOUR BROTHER!”

Sighing, he did as he was told. “c’mere pap, let’s go get some real food at grillby’s,” he said, tucking the infant under one arm.

“Gillby’s? Dat stink pace wit da’ frog food? How bout’ no? Put baby down, I eats things at the Dump, not things that BELONG at the Dump.”

“wh-you love hamburgers!”

“Yeah! Hamburgers are GREAT! If you don’t like Grillby’s food, YOU DON’T BELONG IN THIS COUNTRY! Right Sans?”

“I loved em’ good before I knowed they be made of frog…and you doesn’t even know what country we in, so shut it up clown fish with the racism, or Imma tell mah Daddy!”

“YOU’RE A CLOWN FISH, AND I’M NOT SCARED OF YOUR DAD! I’M NOT SCARED OF ANYTHING!!”

“hamburgers aren’t made of frogs bro-”

“What-”

“OR froggets.”

“…They slimy dough…you shouldn’t give slimy stuffs to widdle babies Snas, we gets it in our hairs…”

“it’s not slime-”

“Don’t you care about my hairs…?”

“OH MY GOD! IT’S GREASE, NOT SLIME AND IT’S DELICIOUS!” yelled Undyne hurling a large rock across the woods.

“hey, watch it! you’re gonna hurt somebody!”

“Grease be a movie Fish Lady. I don’t wish to nibble on greased lightning, I’ll gets elly-cuted…electra-cuted. Then Gillby will serve me as da’ baby back ribs and peoples will love it…cept’ they won’t love it cause’ there only be one serving cause’ there only be one me. The customers probly think, ‘why dis one guy get the baby ribs and we don’t? why we not special like him? I not eat here no mores!’ Then Gillby get no more customers and he go out of business…and that will make big Buther sad.”

“…”

“He like the frog food even dough is not healthy for a hippie woah-bot…unless you’s just eating da’ lettuce. You no eat the frog patty Snas? What you do wit dat frog patty?”

“It’s not frog, it’s cow…or magic. Magic cow…? Hey Sans, what are hamburgers made of?”

“it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care. he just wants your attention-”

“IS MOO-COW? LIKE AZZY’S MOM?”

“Uhh…yeah…?”

Who’s Azzy? He doesn’t go to my daycare…

“Ooooh…still, I doesn’t wish to eat at Gillby’s. I thanks you for the invitation Snas, but I’s trying to get big as in tall, not big as in you.”

“go die in a fire papyrus.”

“Daz rude.”

Deciding on silence, Sans teleported to Grillby’s. Perhaps a burger would keep his baby brother quiet for a while…

…

…

…

“HEY SANS YOU JERK! YOU LEFT ME BEHIND!”

SCRUF SCRUF SCRUF SCRUF SCRUF!

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO INVITE ME AND PAY FOR MY MEAL, MAMA SAID!!”

Or maybe it wouldn’t be so quiet after all.  

[xcao7-blog]

Landscape challenge: Landscaping Slopes and Hills

Background:

The job of hillside landscaping is a problem with more homes built on sites which have major changes in elevation and steep slopes.

Landscaping a hill as gardening trend is likely to continue in cities and suburban areas across the nation as most of the “level sites” are in short supply.

Homeowners have a growing awareness of the dramatic value or curb appeal of landscaped hillside locations in their garden or backyard.

Many homeowners have found that gravity and water acting on an improperly planned hillside or slope can require endless maintenance with little resulting reward.

In some cases, the necessary remedy is regrading or installing a retaining wall, in others, merely the proper selection of plants or trees in the garden. Whichever the case, there is no need for discouragement.

Challenge:

Slopes and hills almost always pose a challenge to homeowners trying to design landscaping that is both attractive and functional. A landscape designer can certainly help in this situation and may be necessary if erosion, runoff or drainage is an issues.

Solutions:

1. Because erosion is such an issue in sloped yards, soil stability should be at the root of your landscape design. Particularly steep slopes can be stabilized with a retaining wall, which can also serve as a sitting wall and be incorporated into a paving stone patio or other outdoor living area.

There are some specific ways to prevent How to Prevent Seed and Soil Erosion on Slopes and Hills:

a. Prepare and plant your slope or hill.

b. Use mats to stabilize and protect seed.

c. Water the matted area regularly.

d. Mow and maintain your slopes and hills.

Example: 

Tiering —Creating tiers down your slope make it less likely to erode. By digging into the hill at certain points, you can also create tiers for planting. Retain the walls of the tiers with stone pavers and layer different plants and landscaping elements to create contrast between tiers. If you use rock walls as tiers, try filling them in with plants, small trees, or even river rock for a natural look.

Other examples: 

Paths and Stairs —If your slope isn’t dangerously steep, enhance its incline with paths or staircases made of stone. If you do have a very steep bank, consider a winding path made of pavers, or bricks that traverses your slope to create less of an incline. Stepping-stone paths are pretty, too, and add form and function to your backyard.

Rock Landscaping —Using rocks for landscaping adds some “nature charm,” while also holding plants and soil in place.Make indentations where rocks can sit without rolling and place different-sized rocks of varying texture and color together in groups. To avoid an all-rock look, leave spaces between groupings and spaces between some of the spaces to add  medium-height plants or flowers to break up the landscape.

2. You can also stabilize the soil by planting the slope with a sturdy, fast-growing ground cover or native plants.

Some specific steps and recommendations:

a – Although the cost of moving a cubic yard of soil by mechanical means is low, it is none the less sensible to retain as much of the existing grade as possible, rather than to work completely at cross purposes to site conditions.

b – It is much more economical to push soil from one place on a property to another rather than have an excess of excavated soil hauled away or to bring more soil to the site. It is best, therefore, to try to strike a balance between cut and fill.

c – Topsoil, which is valuable, should always be pushed to one side before progressing further so that it may be re-spread when the job is done. Besides the consideration of cost, conservation is a factor here.

d – The ultimate cost of a slope treatment depends not only on immediate grading outlay, but also on future maintenance expenditures. Continual annoyance and replacement of topsoil and plant materials in the future are likely to follow an effort to get by with insufficient grading in the initial establishment of slopes.

Good Plants for a Slope

California lilac

Creeping juniper

Purple coneflower

Rattlesnake master

Russian sage

Snowberry

Star jasmine

Common periwinkle

Siberian carpet cypress

Once a slope has been structurally fashioned in a basically sound manner, it may be maintained that way indefinitely by the use of plant materials.

The only utilitarian value of vegetation is to prevent slopes which already have interior stability from being bullied by water. Plant materials are not effective against the forces involved in the sliding or caving-in of large volumes of material.

Grass is a common ground cover for erosion control. Once established, the grass affords excellent protection, but also requires constant maintenance.

Woody plants offer permanent protection with the advantage of low maintenance effort. Because slopes should be and usually are well drained, trees or plants which withstand dry soil conditions are, for most banks, the safest to use.

Since it is the surface that needs protection certain types of plants are better than others. Evergreen and bushy, dense growing plants have the greatest ability to soften the impact of raindrops and prevent soil grains from being splashed down hill.

Perhaps of even greater effectiveness are thicket or mat-forming plants. Plants of this type spread by suckers or root shoots or take root from trailing branches and in this manner bind a sizable area of soil. It is obvious, of course, that rapid-growing species give maximum protection faster than slow growing ones.

3. Alternatively, if you prefer a low-maintenance option that requires no watering and never having to climb the hillside to pull weeds, you might want to consider installing artificial turf.

Can Artificial Turf Be Installed on a Slope?

Synthetic turf is a popular choice for a wide variety of landscape designs. This is largely due to the fact that it provides the visual and tactile appeal of natural grass without the high level of maintenance. This makes it a particularly good choice for slopes, since the less time you spend maintaining your hillside landscaping, the better.

Here are six reasons you should consider fake grass for slopes:

1. Manufactured grass limits weed growth, which results in less time climbing hills to pull weeds.

2. It is a low-water option that does not require installing an irrigation system on your hillside.

3. Artificial turf can help control erosion and ensure proper drainage.

4. Synthetic grass is a durable, long-lasting option that will provide many years of hillside enhancement.

5. This incredibly low-maintenance landscaping option can save you lots of time and effort by consistently looking its best with very little care.

6. It can completely transform the look of your hill and give the slope a lush, green look all year long.

Now, even if these reasons appeal to your practical side, you may still have some concerns about installing artificial grass on slopes. The first concern for many folks if whether or not their synthetic lawn will look like natural grass. To learn more about this topic, we recommend reading Find Out What Makes Artificial Grass Look Real.

The second concern for some folks is whether or not manufactured grass can be laid on a slope, and some have even heard stories about synthetic turf slipping or shifting on hillsides. There are two important points to make here. The first is that, yes, improperly installed fake grass may shift, slip or otherwise not stay in place on a slope. The second important point is that professional installation can help you avoid this.

4. If you have a long slope, you might consider bringing in a contractor who can transform it into terraced levels that can be fortified with paving stone retaining walls and used for planting a vegetable garden, creating separate outdoor entertaining areas, installing a multi-level patio, growing fruit trees or simply planting with drought-tolerant plants.

Keep in mind that you may need to also include stairs or an automatic irrigation system into the design to allow you to maintain what you plant on the hillside.

Backyard slopes can be made into things of beauty, but before landscaping, it’s always a good idea to check with a landscape architect to ensure you’re not creating potential erosion problems.

Overall, if you’re still stumped, go with a mixture of deep-rooted California native shrubs, and trees, mixed with shallow-rooted shrubs that are mulched.

https://www.installitdirect.com/learn/landscaping-ideas-for-hillside/

[lordrethandus]

As We Choke on the Smoke of the Bridges We Burn Finale

Ijiro, Eristel and Istrys all exchanged varying glances but Zolaar never saw them; all of his attention was focused on Kaarst Shattercraft handing Gonthar his freshly-sharpened axe. “Commander, I know you don't trust him…” Ijiro started, taking a small step to the Sunwalker’s side. “But this isn't a good look for your first day on the job, yeah?”

“I don't care what this looks like.” His retort was aggressively curt. “He is a traitor, he must be punished.”

Traitor?

There was that word again. An insult people he considered his allies so often used when addressing him. Yet when they’re convinced the end is upon them, they turn to him for help. The idea of being executed for practicing magic that saved their lives would be laughable if it weren’t so aggravating; normally he would succumb to his despair, but the very thought of never seeing his wife again, never holding his baby daughter again, made him so angry he began to grow nauseous. “I-It’s easy to pass judgement now, isn’t it…?” The Harvester hissed the words through his teeth, forcing them out with what little strength he had left. “Where was the axe when I saved you from Highmountain? Not once… not twice… but three times?! I-It was my curse that weakened the Feltotem and gave us a fighting ch-chance! Is this how the Oathguard treats their h-heroes?! This isn’t justice… this is murder!”

Gonthar said nothing. Instead he glanced over and nodded to one of his war braves, who approached the Harvester with a worn tree stump and a basket. They were going to execute him anyway… and although Zolaar knew he couldn’t hope to fight his way out of this, he still had words he needed to say.

“I could have joined Zerethel’s coup on Zaldrannar… but I didn’t! I could have left you all to burn in Highmountain… but I didn’t! I had every chance to betray the Oathguard… and I let every chance go by! Because I am also Oathguard! Y-you are my family, whether you care for me or not! I gave up everything… is that not enough?!”

"Enough.” Gonthar hissed while he began his approach. “Your prattling is not going to save you.”

“Wait… wait! WAIT!” Zolaar struggled against the war braves, but he was no more than a disabled child in their grasp. They held him by the shoulders and forced him over the tree stump, where he stared wide-eyed into the basket with both fear and contempt. Sores and blisters running along his spine burst beneath the firm weight of a colossal hoof, but despite the pain, they were successful in holding him still. “Wait…! Please! Please don't…!” Gonthar remained silent while he approached, with the Harvester flinching with each and every step of his hooves. The tip of the axe kissed the back of Zolaar’s neck, causing him to shudder with fear.

Seeing such a wretched creature squirm helplessly against his execution turned Gonthar’s stomach. It was unsightly to see even a being as tainted and warped as the Harvester fear a just and righteous death so much. Removing the mask to give him a clear line of sight to his neck was the least Gonthar could do, but he wisely decided against it; he caught a glimpse of the Harvester’s face only once before, and if he looked into his sunken eyes moments before his swift death, that accursed image would likely haunt him for the rest of his life. The Sunwalker raised the axe high over his head, and gripped it with both hands to prepare for the cleanest kill he may ever make.

Zolaar made one last attempt to spare himself from the axe by shouting out, “I know a way to destroy the Burning Legion before the week’s end!” Gonthar froze in place, but he kept the axe high over his head. His silence was enough to convince the Harvester to follow up with, “The L-legion uses a network to secure their portals! I’ve been extracting th-that sequence from our felguard prisoners…!”

The tauren pressing his hoof against Zolaar’s back added another twenty pounds before barking in his native tongue, “Mohale’ako pikialo?! Cona’rah awak!”

“Owa.” Was all Gonthar said after a short grunt; Zolaar didn't know a single word of Taurahe, but he understood context better than most.

“I-I have proof!” He coughed out, trying to speak through the pain. Gonthar lowered the axe while he glared down at the Harvester, but he couldn’t tell if he was intrigued or irritated.

“You think we’re going to let you slither back into your lair, warlock?” The Sunwalker spat, gripping the axe tightly. Zolaar could no longer speak with the crushing weight of the tauren pressing down on his back, but he managed to reach into his robes and drop a scroll onto the ground. Gonthar was reluctant to touch it, obviously thinking it was some sort of trap; he lowered the weapon to his waist, plucked the scroll off the ground with two fingers and sniffed at it, but for a long time he refused to open it until his curiosity got the better of him. “This isn’t in orcish.” He huffed flatly. “Am I supposed to be persuaded by gibberish…?”

“Lord-Commander… if I may?” Eristel stepped forward out of the gathering crowd. “Zolaar is getting his information from our Burning Legion captives… their official language is Eredun… and I studied Eredun in Dalaran.” Gonthar didn’t look too convinced, but he couldn’t make any sense of the scroll himself; when he handed it over to the Pyromancer, he treated it like it was smeared with disease. Eristel wasted little time perusing the words burned into the parchment. “That’s what I thought. This is indeed Eredun, Commander. If what Zolaar claims is true, then we could bypass the army standing between us and Miraan.”

Gonthar quickly responded with, “Can you use that scroll to teleport us directly onto her ship?”

“Ahh… no I cannot.” The Pyromancer admitted. “I can only create portals to static locations… planets, towns, things of that nature. Since their ships move about all the time, they require a network to avoid teleporting troops into random places across the cosmos… mostly deep space.”

“We don’t have the means to use this shortcut, then.” The Sunwalker glowered before glancing down at the axe in his grasp again.

“We don’t,” Eristel rolled the scroll up while he stepped forward. “But the Army of the Light does. I know they have allied with the Alliance, but destroying the remnants of the Burning Legion take precedence over allegiances, shouldn’t they? If Zolaar can complete this sequence… surely they would help us.”

Gonthar let out an angry snort. He would never trust this warlock as far as he could throw him, but if there was a sliver of truth behind his desperate words, this nightmare could end far sooner than he expected. He wanted to return to Azeroth and never set foot on this mass grave of a planet for the rest of his days, he yearned for soft grass and clear skies again. The very thought of returning home for good was so tempting to indulge, but from Zolaar? The hollow shell of what used to be an elf, who bends the knee to evil beyond his comprehension? How could he know this wasn't an elaborate trap to break the Oathguard once and for all? How could he charge into battle with this twisted abomination whispering to his true masters behind him?

Yet he couldn't think of a better way to go about any of this. With the exception of a few stubborn captains, the Burning Legion has withdrawn from both Krokuun and Mac’Aree, concentrating the remnants of their forces in the Antoran Wastes. There was no way the Army of the Light would risk destruction of the Vindicaar going up against their anti-aircraft batteries, they were too concentrated and in high alert for infiltration or even a single scouting party, and both the Horde and Alliance had left Argus already to go kill each other. It could take years to slowly whittle them down enough to reach Miraan, and the Oathguard as well as the Amber Glade had neither the soldiers nor the gold to stay in this fight for this long. It needed to end, and it needed to end now.

Zolaar let out a weak gasp of relief when Gonthar tossed the axe back to Kaarst. His war braves snorted in anger as well before releasing the Harvester and returning to their posts. “This is your only chance, warlock. Betray my trust and your death will not be quick.” He then turned to glare and point at Eristel. “He is your responsibility. His burden is now yours to bare.”

Eristel pretended the Commander of the Oathguard didn't just threaten the greatest contributor to this operation, and nodded with a slight frown before saying, “Yes sir.” Gonthar gave Zolaar one last glare before turning to stomp off to his new office. The Pyromancer waited until everyone cleared out to help the Harvester back onto his feet.

“Why did you stick your neck out for me? If G-... if the Commander branded you an accomplice your head would be in the basket with mine.” Zolaar instinctively rubbed at his neck, but the fear of being executed had yet to leave his trembling voice. “You don't even know Eredun…”

“Never set foot in Dalaran either. Seems like a place best avoided.” Eristel shrugged, trying his best to cheer the Harvester up. “Listen… my knowledge on demons extends to how quickly they burn from my spellflame and how loudly they scream when I kill them. I don’t know much about the Burning Legion outside of common knowledge… but I know portal magic very well. If you can extract any information about how their portals work, I can use that to decipher how to access their network.”

Zolaar was nervously wringing his hands together while he glanced about to make sure no one else was watching them. “B-but the Burning Legion doesn’t give their Felguards that information…! They are bred to kill, not to think! We would need a smarter demon to interrogate… one with intimate knowledge on Miraan’s ship!”

“Then let’s put our heads together and come up with a plan.” Eristel crossed his arms while he paused to think. “Come on… let’s get inside before the Commander changes his mind.”

[notesfromthefielddesk]

Episode 2 - E.E. Evans Pritchard

Episode link - https://open.spotify.com/episode/0LqJQ1q2kv5utkoct7V8Cg?si=485ef5c24837440e

John

I’m looking out over the plains of what was once Nuerland. The heavy clay earth is broken apart by the relentless sun. Deep cracks and the threaded depressions of rivers which rarely fill, even in the rainy season, are the only features on the dead flat, almost alien landscape. Around me cattle rest on the slightly (We hear gentle mooing) elevated sandy spot I found for my desk. From here I can see clear to the horizon where I spot sporadic patches of trees but all other greenery has browned and died back months ago. What these cows are living off is beyond me.

In years past the sodden clay retained water allowing certain plants to survive through the dry months. When the rain came this whole plain would be covered in grass reaching over my head as I sit behind my desk. Near the rivers edge they’d reach up to my shoulders even when standing. The rivers would fill then overflow making the whole plain a marshy swamp. At times like those this sandy mound would be prime real-estate and i’d be sharing space with far more cows.

Nowadays, this is South Sudan. The rainy season has become more sporadic and unpredictable. Often the relief of rains arrival is followed - shortly - by overwhelming flooding. Right now people are still waiting on that rain.

(we hear the wind starting to pick up)

The wind is picking up. A cloud of dust is rising on the plain. The horizon, with it’s sporadic trees and the cracked earth disappear from view behind a wall of air thick with clay. I can see about two cows away. Out of the dust emerges a figure. They’re walking towards me.

This is notes from the field desk.

Theme

oh! you. Look after what you told me in Papua new guinea I don’t think we should be talking. What are you doing here anyway? -

what do you mean am I following you? I am here by chance. My flight back to London from Brisbane got diverted because of technical fault with the plane and we landed in Juba. So there is no way I could have followed you here. If anything you’re probably followed me!

(sigh) Fine, I suppose there is no harm in you sitting here. There’s a tree stump just there you can listen to me record if you want. That is if you’re not busy organising a coup or whatever.

Anyway, when we got grounded in Juba I had a look through my collection. Oh, I should explain, I travel with a trunk of the one hundred most influential ethnographies, that’s what we call the books anthropologists write.

Side note, I never thought the trunk would be a problem, in all these Ethnographies they talk about getting porters to carry all their stuff, but when I asked at the airport for a porter, they just laughed at me?

Anyway, we were grounded a while before they cancelled the flight. So I had a look and it turns out another anthropological founding father did research in South Sudan. E.E.Evans-Pritchard. Or as I call him EEEE Pritchard. Okay well look, I don’t even want you to find my jokes funny so you just sit there rolling your eyes all you want.

Evans-Pritchard was a student of Malinowski at LSE and in the late 1920’s he set out for what was then Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. He wrote a couple of Ethnographies about the Azande which mostly focused on magic, kind of an obsession with early anthropologists. Then he headed south in 1930 to do research on the Nuer, which focused mostly on politics. A good hard subject we can get our teeth into! Anglo-Egyptian Sudan came Sudan in 1956, then split into the mostly Muslim North and mostly Christian South in 2011. Then in 2021 I arrived to do some peer-reviewing. I’m hoping Evan’s Pritchard is a bit less of a controversial figure so my students will get off my back.

(phone rings) ignore that, i’m ignoring, that’s nothing.

(Clearly still flustered) Okay, last time, we talked about the two sides of anthropology, the field and the desk. If Malinowski represents the innovation of field, you know participating in society, going native, spending years in the field. Then Evans-Pritchard is the OG anthropologist who developed the desk. Anthropology trades on being able to create a sense of being there through vivd description, where Malinowski could be a bit stiff and scientific Evans-Pritchard had a bit of flare with his flowing prose.

Is that cow looking at me? That one there with huge horns. I swear to god it’s looking at me.

Anyway, EP, I like calling him EP when I do he feels like a friend. (clear throat) He made drawings, he took tonnes of pictures, he described the plains, some of his diary crept into the ethnography. No racism as far as I could tell but He talks about being frustrated, he shows his work. A move towards modern anthropology. So reading his The Nuer, which is the ethnography he wrote about this region, is really like the experience of being here. Way less of a slog than boring old Malinowski.

(Email Chime)

Ohh an email, do you mind if I just check this? I just got assigned a student whose thesis i’m supervising. Very exciting. Shaping the next generation of anthropologists and all that.

okay, here we go.

“Dear Professor Johnson”

Not a professor but i’m quite pleased with that.

“I discussed briefly with Susan, uh-huh, during the introduction lecture that I’d be interested in researching the club scene, queer identity and youth in London. I’ve been reading tony Adams and Stacy Holman Jones on Auto-ethnography and that’s inspired me to try it myself. If you could point me in the direction of some readings to get myself started with.

All the best,”

I’ll leave their name out of it, bit of privacy. Hmm well i’m not sure about that. I mean really ethnography should be done in a rural place, not the city, should they even be doing research in the UK? This is anthropology not sociology. Plus auto-ethnography? I’ve never heard of it but we’re supposed to be studying the other not ourselves, this isn’t psychology. Hmm well I need to think about a reply, don’t want to stamp on the young fellows aspirations but he needs setting straight.

What is that cow doing. Is it - it’s coming over here isn’t it. Shoo, shoo! it’s licking me. Do something don’t just laugh. No do not nibble my suit! Argh. This suit cost a lot of money cow! Get off me. Shoo. Fine, i’m getting up. it’s your desk now!

Go on get out of here!

You know what happens now because you wouldn’t help me? We’re going to talk about theory. Yes groan away, there isn’t even a sea for you to paddle in this time so I guess you’ll just have to sit down there with the cows and listen.

This book actually is mostly about cows. All three hundred pages of it, I don’t think there is a single sentence that doesn’t mention cows or cattle or I don’t know bovine. I mean I like cows as much as the next englishman but it’s not exactly thrilling. But in fairness to Evans-Pritchard the Nuer didn’t exactly give him a choice. He said that

“whatever subject I would start on, and approaching it from whatever angle, we would soon be speaking of cows and oxen, heifers and steers, rams and sheep, hegoats and she-goats, calves and lambs and kids.”

Basically the Nuer loved cows. He said this fact was the underlying structure of Nuer society. So everything in Nuer society comes back to cows. Love, war, religion, politics, it was all about cows.

Our boy EP is a structural functionalist, - look the terms are important so just get used to it - meaning he thought there are underlying structures to all societies, that cause us to behave in a certain ways. Where Malinowski and functionalism thought post hoc ergo propter hoc - I can see you rolling your eyes, sometimes latin is useful! (deep sigh) Fine, i’ll explain it another way.

Malinowski would say the Nuer like cows because they give them milk - our boy EP would say okay but why love cows instead of say… soy beans which can also give you milk. It’s because the conditions the land in which the Nuer live aren’t good for growing soy beans, but they are good for raising cattle.

What would be a good comparison. Okay, Malinowski would say you like your iPhone because it gives you messages from friends. Those messages make you feel nice, so it fills a need. And EP might say, yes that’s true but it’s also possible that you like the phone because the underlying structure of Western society values objects especially expensive ones. Or else you’d have a nokia 3310. It still fills the same function but EP aims to explain why people choose one thing over another. If you’re a quote fan here is how Evans-Pritchard put it.

“Although the Nuer have a mixed pastoral-horticultural economy their country is more suitable for cattle husbandry than for horticulture, so that the environmental bias coincides with the bias of their interest and does not encourage a change in the balance in favour of horticulture.”

Oh there is a guy over there! (Shouting) Hey! Hey sir! Sir! Who do these cows belong to? Sir? (Biggish pause) (Snort in distance) He’s gone. Well I didn’t have time to chat anyway, i’ve got a tutorial. Just keep that cow away from me while I’m teaching. I doubt you care but here’s a Nuer song that Evans Pritchard translated.

Extract

The wind blows wira wira;

Where does it blow to?

It blows to the river. The shorthorn carries its full udder to the pastures;'

Let her be milked by Nyagaak;

My belly will be filled with milk. Thou pride of Nyawal,

Ever-quarrelling Rolnyang.

This country is overrun by strangers;

They throw our ornaments into the river;

They draw their water from the bank.

Blackhair my sister,

I am bewildered.

Blackhair my sister,

I am bewildered.

We are perplexed;

We gaze at the stars of God.

White ox good is my mother

And we the people of my sister. The people of Nyariau Bui.

As my black-rumped white ox. When I went to court the winsome lassie,

I am not a man whom girls refuse. We court girls by stealth in the night,

I and Kwejok Nyadeang.

We brought the ox across the river,

I and Kirj oak

And the son of my mother's sister Buth Gutjaak.

Friend, great ox of the spreading horns,

Which ever bellows amid the herd. Ox of the son.

Return from tutorial

You let the cows eat my notes!? I thought I said watch the cows! What happened? Was it that same cow again? What do you mean they all look the same, the one with the evil eyes!

Okay, so it seems like I missed some things again. The students pointed out that on page one of the preface, I might have skipped the preface, says “My study of the Nuer was undertaken at the request of, and was mainly financed by, the Government of the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan.” Which means the colonial government most likely paid for him to do the research because they wanted to control the Nuer. He describes them as violent willing to go to war over cattle at the drop of a hat. In text he says;

“At the present time cattle are the main cause of hostility

towards, and suspicion of, the Government, not so much on

account of present taxation as of earlier tax-gathering patrols

which were little more than cattle raids and of the avowedly

plundering expeditions of the Egyptian Government era that

preceded them.”

The students pointed out that given theat the government violently took their property, it was kind of understandable that the Nuer were angry. Again, if he was there trying to collect information so the colonial officers could control them, can we trust his findings?

During the second world war he used his ethnographic relationships to recruit Sudanese troops who he then led in Guerrilla warfare against the Italians. I said that sounds pretty cool right? Which made them angry, academic knowledge shouldn’t be used as a weapon to manipulate people into fighting in a war, which, regardless of the outcome would leave them colonised. They asked why we were spending so much time focussing on old men.

(Phone rings) Ignore that!

Pause takes a breath

I said fine, but we have to cover foundational figures who would they rather cover? What about Boas? He thought races were biological different and with some inferior to others. Ruth Benedict? They say she wrote a book for the US army in the Second World War about how to defeat the Japanese based on their culture without ever setting foot in Japan. Fine, Margret Mead? Exoticised the sex lives of Samoans and thought they were primitive.

I’m taking off this jacket it’s so hot and it’s got cow slobber all over the shoulder.

Well if all of them were racist then let’s just pack the whole thing in! They said I wasn’t understanding. I was thinking about racism as an individual failing caused by ignorance. But they weren’t ignorant, their racism was a product of society. In that way Evans-Pritchard was right. They lived during colonialism and the rise of the nation state. Which meant Nations had to justify their difference from others and their superiority over others.

People had to have a reason to believe in “Being British” rather than French or Sudanese. Or why would you think it was okay to rule them? Or to enforce boarders?  These ideas of superiority and difference permeated the early anthropologists the same way the utility of cow herding led to the Nuer loving cattle. So everyone from that era was bound to be Colonialist.

They also said It doesn’t help that doing fieldwork confirms the differences between people. My head felt like it was going to explode. Still trying to figure it all out and it doesn’t help that that cow is still looking at me. I asked where they were getting all this from? Lentin and Visweswaren they said, apparently it’s on the reading list… I haven’t read the reading list.

(Phone rings once but he immediately hangs it up)

So, they said maybe next we could talk about Talal Asad. Apparently he is an anti-colonial ethnographer or something. I said fine whatever. They seem to know more than me anyway. Maybe we shouldn’t do fieldwork, maybe we should all do auto-ethnography. My students said maybe, but we still need to pay attention because racism hasn’t gone away, it’s still in our society. Which means we still might make arguments for it in our work unless we’re careful.

I guess before I do field work I should look at what the underlying structures of Britain are effecting my thinking. Not just my assumptions like I thought with Malinowski but what it means for a British person to turn up at a former colony. What does that act mean even before I start interacting with people.

I know that sounds like the same conclusion as episode one but my students assure me it’s subtly different. My head hurts, let’s go.

Nah leave the desk I’ll just get another.

Theme

This was notes from the field desk written by me James McGrail.  

This episode references

Evans-Pritchard, E.E., The Nuer, 1940, Clarendon Press, Oxford.

Lentin, A. (2004). Racial states, anti-racist responses. Picking holes in 'Culture' and 'Human Rights'. European Journal of Social Theory 7(4): 427-443.

Pocock, D. (1975). Sir Edward Evans-Pritchard 1902–1973: An appreciation. Africa, 45(3)

Visweswaran, Kamala (1998) Race and the Culture of Anthropology, American Anthropologist 100/1: 70-83.

Theme ends

Susan

Do you think I’m stupid? You think I believe your flight got diverted to South Sudan? South Sudan? Oh and it just so happens that it’s thematically appropriate for your little podcast? Get back to London. Now. We need to have a serious conversation.

https://freesound.org/people/Mystikuum/sounds/401636/

https://freesound.org/people/JarredGibb/sounds/233143/

https://freesound.org/people/selcukartut/sounds/504882/

https://freesound.org/people/felix.blume/sounds/187756/

https://freesound.org/people/darrinsmith/sounds/274434/

https://freesound.org/people/InspectorJ/sounds/405561/

https://freesound.org/people/t-man95/sounds/553265/

[rhunae]

This is a self indulgent mess set right after Trespasser. It’s a big fuck you and twin finger salute to Bioware because gods dammit, I want my dragons. So yeah, this is self indulgent dragon age trash. Oh, and it’s long, and that’s even after shortening it. Sorry. (Ao3)

Words: 2484

Serafina Gets Her Dragon

After the Council meeting - 9:44 Dragon

Tall grass swayed along the worn path, brushing at her ankles and calves. At the archway, Serafina turned to scan over the two giant wolf statues down the hill where she left her companions. Cole lay along the spine of one of the wolf statues, his head resting against the back of its neck, the small elven toddler snuggled atop his chest, cradled in his arms. Cole made a good ‘uncle’; he was attentive and enthralled with the little elf. Pushing up on tippy toes, she searched for Bull and Dorian, but she could see nothing in the high golden grasses. She snickered softly to herself.

Ambling with a reverent gait into the empty coliseum, the field lay untouched for so long, it may have lain fallow for eons before she walked it’s forgotten grounds. Two years passed since the last time she tread across the arena, when Flemeth sent her here to claim the elven goddess’ guardian against Corypheus. That help came in the form of a dragon. 

Serafina did not expect a dragon this time. She didn’t expect anything. She was going to beg for help. Then what? Probably nothing. It was futile to try. How long had the priests and sentinels prayed to Mythal with no answer? How long had her people prayed to Mythal and received no answer? It was an act of desperation, but seeing Solas again revealed a raw and gaping wound she thought scarred over long ago; she didn’t know what else to do.

Her boots crunched underfoot, kicking up dust from the packed dirt and gravel. A group of robins pecked and scratched at the ground scattered into the wind when she reached them. At the Exalted Council, she intended to dissolve the inquisition and return to Wycome, to return to her clan where Theneras could grow up among his kin. She hoped she had enough time to give him sufficient memories to cling to as he grew older without her and never knowing his father. All that changed when Solas masterfully manipulated her through a series of eluvians, stepping metaphorically back in time to crumbling ruins when proudly wore the badge of Fen’Harel, and what that meant before the legends and myths were distorted by propaganda and time.

Pausing before the steps to the shrine, Serafina stared at the dragon statue of Mythal for a long, quiet moment, trying to form the words to move a goddess to respond; one she thought long lost to her People, squirreled away into the heavens by a Trickster’s lie.

“Mythal! Flemeth!” Serafina glanced around, birds chirped in the trees surrounding the coliseum. She thought she could imagine the older witch canting her head at the sound of her name. Maybe she was listening. Maybe she didn’t care. Solas removed her vallaslin, slave markings of an era long gone, but drinking from the Well of Sorrows made her a servant, with or without those marks. Would Mythal respond now? Did Mythal respond to the prayers of Abelas and the other sentinels? It was beginning to sound like a repetitive mantra. 

“I’m not seeking justice or vengeance of a wrong done to me. I call upon you as the Mother of our People. As the drinker of the Well of Sorrows, your servant. I am asking, begging, for guidance. I fell in love…” 

Sighing, Serafina paced in meditation before the shrine, the sound of her boots on the gravel creating a rhythmic tune, “My wolf, my guardian, my protector, my heart,… left my side to save his People.” 

Should she had claimed him so possessively? She remembered no stories relating to Mythal and the Dread Wolf implying intimacy. Solas was merely reverent at the temple. Would Flemeth answer, knowing the tales of the first witch of the wilds? Maybe she didn’t think this through. Maybe this truly was a mistake.

Rubbing her right hand fingers against her brow, what remained of her left arm hung useless at her side, her shoulders slouched in dejection as her thoughts turned increasingly negative and bitter, “I asked to help him. He refused. He walks the Din’anshiral. I— I can’t allow him to do this alone. If he’s going to change,… no, destroy my world, I need… I need… Fuck!” She ground her teeth, “Help me, Flemeth.”

Sinking to her knees, Serafina pressed her palm against her right eye, her voice thick with emotion, “The Return of the Elvhen People does not need to mean the death of Thedas— of my people. I don’t want to die. Help me merge his world with mine. Help me, help him. Help me save him, save us, save our so-.” Serafina’s voice cracked on the last. 

Pressing her forehead to the stone steps, tears fall silent from the corners of her eyes and plop with a less than dignified drip on the stone. She lay there sobbing on the steps to the shrine. Too distraught to pull herself up. All the emotions laid bare, raw, and overwhelming.

Flicker. A series of dreams left her reeling from their intensity and overall peculiar weirdness. As the last of the dreams faded. The ground shook. Sparkling light was flicked in her face, then the dream melted away to darkness. Leaving her dizzy and disorientated.

Serafina startled awake. The ground shook again. Small pebbles and sand bounced in place. Something large huffed heat and the stench of decaying meat close to her face. Turning her head slowly, all she saw was green scales and giant teeth just a mere few inches from her face. 

Screeching, she back peddled away and bumped into the dragon statue of Mythal.

The dragon tilted her head to look at her from one golden eye, then bounced away with two powerful leaps to the other end of the coliseum, her head swinging from side to side, her tail swinging opposite to maintain balance. 

“Boss?!” Iron Bull’s voice cut through the distance as he ran under the archway into the vacant space of the coliseum.

“Yes,” she called out to him, still trying to regain her bearing after being sucked into a series of weird dreams, then suddenly dumped awake. From the corner of her eye, she could see Iron Bull hesitate, “Are you ok, boss?” He called out. “I would attack but last time we were here, you gained a dragon…”

“I-I think so.” Serafina rose carefully, struggling for her initial balance, still not used to general movement with a missing limb. 

“She wants to help.” Cole wondered in awe, his daggers in hand but hesitant to close the distance.

The Tevinter remained near the arch, Thenaras tucked in the sling close to his chest. “You’re— you won’t need me for this, will you? Maybe some barriers? I got the kid…”

The dragon continued to swing her head from side to side, keeping the four in her line of sight, huffing small clouds of smoke from her nostrils.

“No, if she meant me harm, she would have,” Serafina gestured for them to stand down as she warily trudged closer, her steps slow and cautious; the voices from the Well of Sorrows whispering across the distances, instructing her.

The dragon shifted and settled her belly against the ground and tucked her lime green and black marble colored wings loosely against her body. 

“This dragon was the one we saved from the Qunari. We set her free.” It surprised her, an act of mercy by the infamous dragon killer, but the inquisitor didn’t have the heart to kill the tied down and tortured beast. It didn’t feel right. Did the dragon know she only hunted dragons that threatened human towns and settlements? 

“Yes, we helped her. So she is here to help you. She’s in pain.” Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed that Cole had resheathed his daggers and was now squatting beside the Iron Bull with a curious expression.

Nodding, “Yes, I see her horns were chopped off.” Serafina stepped closer until her and the dragon were only several feet from one another. “I noticed briefly when I was trying to set her free, but hadn’t got a good look before.  It looks like she is fighting an infection. The Qunari cut it pretty close to the quick. Hey, Dorian, do you have any of that ointment?”

“Let me check, “Dorian called out over the distance.

“Yeah. They called her Ataashi.” Iron Bull replied, “It means ‘glorious one’ in Qunlat.”

“They certainly named her well, Bull.”

The dragon opened her large maw and from deep in her throat sound waves rolled out over her tongue and blasted against her, sending her red hair into a flurry behind her and nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Uh, boss?”

“She’s communicating, Bull.”

“You understood that?”

“The Voices from the Well are … translating?”Reaching at her side, she pulled out her dagger, but when she glanced to where her left hand would be, she lifted her stump. She ground her teeth in frustration, “I need a little help here. Cole?”

The sound of his boots shuffling across the expanse increasingly grew louder until he stopped beside her, “She’s beautiful.” The Spirit of Compassion always seemed to hold a sense of awe in his voice.

“She is. Can you slice open my palm?” Serafina glanced at him, offering him the dagger in hand by the blade.

Cole peered at her under the brim of his large hat, the pale blue of his eyes partially hidden by his blond strands, “Are you certain? Won’t this hurt you?” “Only for a moment.” 

He took the dagger, and as she held out her right palm, he sliced the length of it from between her thumb and forefinger and down across the fleshy part of her palm. She hissed as the pain cut quick.  Making a fist, she approached Ataashi as the dragon opened her mouth and slid her tongue partway between sharp teeth. Pumping her fist several times, she drained some of her life essence atop the grooved tongue. The serpent tongue slid back in and the dragon closed her mouth. Stepped back, she felt a nudge when Cole tapped her shoulder to hand her a white linen handkerchief from his pocket. 

“Thank you.” She took the handkerchief, but stared dumbfounded as she stared between her right hand and the stump of her left arm. Grounding her teeth again in frustration, the feeling of helplessness weighed heavily against her chest.

“Let me help.” Cole offered, taking the cloth out of her hand and wrapping it himself, tying it off with a gentle tug.

“Again, thank you.”

As the human and elf were busy, the dragon stretched out one of her paws, a single claw stretched out and pricked the metacarpal pad of her paw until dark, red blood oozed from the weal. Once the makeshift bandage was secure, Serafina stepped forward and knelt down beside the dragon’s paw. 

“You’re going to—” Iron Bull was closer than before, fascinated by the process of a dragon willingly offering blood.

“You’re going to drink it? Like the Iron Bull when he chose to be a Reaver?” 

“There are many uses for dragon’s blood.” Dorian replied quietly, standing to the side and slightly behind the Iron Bull, keeping the child in his arms shielded. 

Rummaging in one of her pouches, the inquisitor pulled out a worn wooden cup and carefully pressed the lid against the oozing blood. It flowed thickly into her cup, filling the cup halfway, then Serafina rose and stepped back away. She stared at the dark liquid as she listened to the whispers from the Voices of the Well. 

“Dorian, will you help me with this? Bull and Cole, will you attend Ataashi? Cut off the ropes and apply the ointment to her horn stubs?”

As the Tal-Vashoth and Spirit of Compassion attended the dragon, she led Dorian a few feet away where they knelt facing one another. The Tevinter held the cup in both hands, holding it forward to keep Thenaras’ chubby fingers from grabbing it. The elven toddler whimpered with dismay.

“This isn’t for you, little one,” Serafina said, ruffling the shock of ginger atop his head. Pulling her hand from the toddler, her hand hovered over the wooden cup, the blue glow of magic directed into the thick dragon’s blood. The Voices told her the magic to perform, a form of blood magic she never even considered.

“This is fascinating. What is the ritual?”

“It’s to help with the bonding between me and Ataashi. I’ll be able to call for her from miles away.” The voices recited a series of elven words, then she repeated them aloud. The blood fizzled and bubbled briefly. 

Dorian tipped the cup towards him as the blood fizzled, and just at that moment, Theneras reached out and dropped his tiny, pudgy fingers into the cup. 

“Oh no!”

Theneras looked right at her and stuck his fingers into his mouth.

“No! Honey, no.”

The toddler made several faces of disgust, then stuck out his hand and tried to shake the blood off his fingers, but it was too late. “Off! Off!” He ordered whoever would listen.

Dorian handed the cup to her, then he quickly got out a cloth and wiped off the toddler’s hands.

With the Voices in her head frantically whispering for her to drink, she quickly drank the contents in the cup. There was no time to prepare herself, to find her nerve to drink dragon’s blood. But there it was. A thick malaise flowing thickly down her throat. It was tangy and metallic, and tasted of sulfur and smoke. And life. Life blossomed from the pit of her belly and spread to her limbs. A cloud swept across her mind, ruffling memories she had long forgotten, then clarity settled behind her eyes. The power of Ataashi’s blood not only gave her a bond with the beast, but also raw power flowed through her veins. 

“So, what will happen to the boy?” The strain in Dorian’s voice was palpable, the guilt heavily written on his brow.

Tilting her head, she listened to the voices, “The bond is weak because Ataashi did not taste his blood. He may be more powerful as he grows up than without it. He may even make a powerful warrior, or mage. He may have an affinity with other dragons, since he was not carefully bonded to this one. It’s really hard to say. Being so young, maybe nothing.”

With the ritual done, and Cole and Iron Bull finished caring for the dragon, the two retreating from the beast with a strange look of fascination and awe. Ataashi flexed her wings out, rose up and beat her wings until she could propel herself from the ground and fly off.

“Boss, life is not boring around you.”

“She’s happy we helped. She feels free.”

[therake-1996-blog]

Pure Chap 9

Chapter 9

The Heavens

 “These goldfish are getting worse by the day,”

Scorpio, who is sitting across from Ichthys and I in the parlor, growls as he flips through work documents. I frown. There’s that nickname again.

“What does ‘goldfish’ mean?” I ask Ichthys.

“Hm? Oh. Well, ah…you know how humans take care of pets like fish?” He says. I nod. “Well, we gods think of humans in the way that you think of fish. Like…”

“Like tiny, insignificant little hindrances.” Scorpio completes, his voice like ice.

I stare at him. Hindrances, huh? I wonder if that’s how Zyglavis sees me. As a hindrance, an annoyance.

“Do all gods see us that way?” I mumble, more to myself than to either of them.

“Yup.” Scorpio answers curtly. I flinch.

“Hey, now,” Ichthys says. “I don’t see you that way. Dui doesn’t either. We think humans are very interesting.”

“But you two are weird.”

“Scorpio!”

Ichthys slaps his legs and shoots Scorpio a look, but he just rolls his eyes and goes back to his paperwork.

Sighing inwardly, I slump back against the couch, looking down at my hands.

“Eden, do you wanna do something?” Ichthys asks me, gently elbowing my side. I look at him.

“Like what?” He purses his lips for a moment, then looks off to the side, stumped. I sigh again. Zyglavis doesn’t want me to leave the mansion without him, and I doubt he’d feel any better if I were with the Problem Child.

“Let’s go ask Dui. Come on.”

He pulls me off the couch and leads me down to Dui’s room.

“Hey, Gemini!” Ichthys smacks open the door to Dui’s room, causing the poor god to jump half a foot into the air and drop the small package he was holding.

“Ah! Dammit, Ichthys, my cherries!”

Dui laments the loss of the pack of cherries he had been eating and kneels down on the floor, hurrying to pick them all up. “Oh…sorry, Dui,” Ichthys begins helping Dui.

“No you’re not, you butt-head.” I smile as I watch them go back and forth.

As Ichthys helps Dui pick up his cherries, he says, “I want to take Eden to do something fun today while Minister Uptight is doing the paperwork Altair sent down, but I can’t think of anything. Got any ideas?”

“Hm…” Dui drops the last cherry into the pack and closes its flimsy lid, cocking his head to the side. “Well…why don’t we take her to the Heavens?” Ichthys blinks.

“The Heavens? Is that allowed?”

“I don’t see why not. And if we get questioned we can just say we felt it was safer than Earth, especially since Zyglavis is too busy to watch her.”

“Stop talking like I’m a baby.” I grumble.

Dui smiles brightly at me. “Sorry. Well, what do you think? You want a tour of the Heavens? They’ve got lots of cherry groves.”

“We’re not going to go cherry-picking,” Ichthys says, bumping Dui. He rolls his eyes. “Besides that, there’s this cool forest that no one has ever fully explored. You wanna do that?” I look back from Dui to Ichthys, and the happy, bright looks on their faces leave me with no other option but to say,

“Let’s go.”

 When I step through the door linking the mansion to the Heavens, a warm breeze washes over me, as if cleansing me of all Earthly impurities, and a bright wave of white light comes over me. When it passes…

“Wow!”

I can’t help but cry out at the sight I’m greeted with.    

The ground under my feet is golden, as if the grass is made with pure gold, and the sky is a pure, impossible shade of blue, not a cloud marring it. The trees surrounding this area are a species I’ve never seen before, rising up higher than I have ever seen trees on Earth go. The air is sweet, but not unpleasantly so, and so…easy, to breathe in. Easier than the air on Earth.

“Come on, come on!” Ichthys grabs my hand and yanks me to the right, where a rather imposing, dark patch of forest is.

“Oh, wait, hold on. Those woods?” I gasp, yanking back.

“Oh, relax. Nothing bad can happen here. This is the Heavens, after all.”

“Yeah, Eden, don’t worry,” Dui laughs as he closes the door.

Even though I’m hesitant, Ichthys practically drags me into the mouth of the woods, Dui trailing behind us while laughing at my useless attempts at pulling back.

Once the entrance to the woods is well behind us, Ichthys loosens his grip on my wrist, but keeps ahold of it in case I freak out. Dui takes my other wrist.

“You know, Eden, if you were a little smaller, Ichthys and I could lift you off the ground and swing you like parents do with their children,” Dui says with a bright smile, contrasting the darkness of the woods. I try my best to return that smile, but this place is so…not necessarily scary, but…grim.

“So, do people not come in here because it’s so dark and dim?” I ask. Ichthys nods.

“Everyone says these woods are sad, too dark, and that means that most of it is largely unexplored. There could be species of animals and plants in here no one knows about! How cool is that?”

I don’t answer, and look around as best I can. The light of the sun that was seemingly endlessly bright barely breaks through the leaves of the trees, though small slivers of light somehow manage to reach the ground here and there. I take a deep breath. The air here is different than out in the bright, open space just a few yards away. It’s clean, but smells like wet soil after a heavy rain, not so sweet like before. I hear a bird call that I’m not familiar with; it sounds high but at the same time deep, and it’s not cheerful like most bird songs. It seems somehow melancholy, like a requiem. A few more birds join in, a chorus of sweet, high sounds like peeling bells, and low, brassy sounds like thunder. It’s strange. It seems as if they’re all singing the same song. I wonder if the animals in the Heavens are more intelligent than the animals on Earth.

“Hey, Dui, look over here!” Suddenly Ichthys lets go of my wrist and darts to the left, quickly disappearing from my view.

“Ichthys, wait! We can’t leave Eden!” Dui cries, but it seems like Ichthys can’t hear him. “Ugh…”

“It’s okay, Dui,” I say. “I’ll wait here. You go get him.” He looks down at me apologetically.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And he hurries toward where Ichthys ran.

I stare uselessly in the direction my two tour guides are for a long time before I take a deep breath and look around me.

All around me, it’s dark and grey. I can tell there are shades of green, yellow, and brown, but they don’t appear as vivid to me as they might to a god. I wonder just how much more enhanced god’s senses are.

As I’m staring at nothing, a sliver of bright white light shoots down from the sky in front of me, making me jump. “Ha…” I gasp. I berate myself for being so jumpy, but then, several more thin rays of light appear a few paces from the first, seeming to go farther and farther into the forest. My eyebrows scrunch together as I stare at them, the tips of my fingers like ice. I curl them into my palms.

Something in my mind is telling me I need to follow these rays of light. I take a step, but then stop myself.

Wait. The rest of my mind says. This may be the Heavens, but bad things can still happen, especially when you’re in a strange, dark place and don’t know where you’re going.

I hesitate for a few moments, my body tensed and ready to start following the light as I have an internal battle with myself. Going back and forth for what feels like forever, I force the logical part of my mind to shut up, and my feet start moving.

The wind blows gently through the underbrush, rustling the leaves above my head and the tall grass and flowers at my feet. My hair sways around my head. The rays of light keep appearing, occasionally making me turn left then right, but only a few minutes after I started walking, I come to a small, brighter clearing.

My breath is thoroughly stolen from me when I see what is in this clearing.

A medium-sized pond sits at the center, and tiny lights of blue, pink, orange, and purple float about in the air, seeming to be alive, moving like jellyfish in the ocean. My feet move on their own, taking small, tentative steps further into the clearing.

Flowers I’ve never seen before grow in thick patches all around the perimeter of the clearing all the way to the mouth of the pond. Shades of gold, crimson, royal blue, champagne, and emerald painting the ground. I can smell their delicate scents as the air picks up and lets down.

The water of the pond glows a pretty pale blue, crystal clear, and I can see fish swimming around, even all the way down to the bottom, where colorful rocks are decorating it, glowing like those cheap bracelets you give little kids at birthday parties. The fish swirl gracefully around each other, almost like they’re playing. They all vary in size, from the size of a tube of chapstick to the size of my head, and are shades of scarlet, violet, indigo, and pure white.

A cool breeze, like that of an early autumn morning blows around me, dancing across my cheeks and making me shiver pleasantly.

When I lift my eyes, I can see that on the east side of the pond, there’s a path of sorts, made of grass, leading to a statue I hadn’t noticed until now. Curiously, I round the pond and look at the statue; it’s made not of granite or marble or onyx or any kind of stone I’ve seen, but a type of shiny, silver, crystal-like stone that reflects the rays of light that still shine down from the sky. I notice that clouds are thick over my head. The statue gives off the vibe of being a gravestone, intricate designs swirling up the sides and covering the top.

I cautiously approach the statue, and once I’m only a foot from it, I can see writing in the center of it. I squint my eyes and am able to make out,

       Their absence is a silent grief; their lives a beautiful memory—                                                                     Evgenís & Mala

At the front of the grave is a fresh bouquet of flowers, all marigolds, shades of red, yellow, and orange. Marigolds…isn’t that the flower of the month of October? And, October is the month of Libra…is this…

“Zyglavis’ parents…” I whisper.

I slowly sink to the ground in front of the grave, my eyes glued onto the words engraved into the stone. Zyglavis didn’t just let them go. He mourned them, just as humans mourn the deaths of their loved ones. Maybe even more so. It hits me again just how much he feels, just how sensitive he is when compared to other gods or even humans.      

“I didn’t have any reason to mourn them.”

His words echo in my mind, but now I know he was lying through his teeth to me. Zyglavis loved his parents, and it’s clear to see from the flowers that he still does, and that he misses them. I reach out and run my fingers over their delicate petals, tears stinging in my eyes.

I don’t understand why he lies about his emotions, why he puts on the mask and acts like nothing bothers him. How many times has he sat alone in his room, thinking about what he could have done differently for the humans all those years ago and wondering about what it would be like if his parents were still alive? How many times has he cried, brushed it off, then went about his business like nothing happened?

I swallow, but my throat hurts.

“Eden…James?”

 I jump, a wild gasp hitching in my throat, and I spin around to the voice I didn’t expect to hear.

“Zig…lavis…” I whisper, my voice hoarse. He stands at the line that divides the thick of the forest and the clearing, his eyes wide in shock at seeing me here.

“What are you…doing here?” He approaches me, eyeing me cautiously, and when he comes to be right in front of me, he cocks his head. “And why are you crying?”

“This is…your parent’s grave, isn’t it?” I ask him. His eyes widen just a bit, and silence falls heavy on us. All I can hear for a moment is my own heartbeat and the gentle rippling of the water surrounding us. Then, Zyglavis sighs.

“How is it you’re always find out things I don’t want you to know?” However irritated he looks, his voice is very soft as he lowers himself to the ground beside me, looking at the grave in front of us. “How did you even get here?”

“Ichthys and Dui wanted to explore this forest,” I reply. “And brought me with them.”

“Those two…” He sighs heavily and shakes his head. “Why did they drag you along with them?”

“Well…Dui and Ichthys are my friends. Is it bad to hang out together?” Zyglavis makes a noise in his throat and cocks his head.

“I suppose not.”

Two birds fly low to the ground a few feet away, twirling with each other and chirping merrily before shooting back into the trees.“You lied to me before,” I whisper, turning my gaze to look at him. He glances at me, then looks down at his knees.

“About what?”

“You know exactly what about. About…them,” I reach out my fingers and gently stroke the strange crystal in front of me. “You said you had no reason to mourn them. That you didn’t. But you lied.”

“Eden…”

“I want us to be honest with each other from now on,” I say, looking back at him. “I don’t want you to suffer in silence anymore, okay?”

Zyglavis winces. It’s just a tiny movement, but it doesn’t escape my gaze. Still, he insists, “I don’t suffer—”

“Zyglavis.”

I reach out to him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, leaning my head against him. His body tenses against me, and he doesn’t move to hug me back, but I don’t mind. “There’s nothing wrong with having emotions,” I whisper into his ear.

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling sad, or lost, or frustrated… there’s nothing wrong with any of it. So if you’re trying to be strong for the other gods or for the humans, or even for yourself, you don’t have to be. You don’t always have to be the rock. It’s okay, Zyglavis.”

 He shakes his head, his hair blending with mine.

We remain like that in silence for a moment, until Zyglavis whispers, “It’s not okay. It’s my fault the dark king is after you.

[pretend-im-not-there]

Cracked

Get yourself some angst here. Based on art by @drawbauchery.

Check out the inspiration here and here.

Rating: T, with sensitive content.

Wordcount: 1397

Your grip on your hammer tightened. This was the battle. The intimidation and mental games that made this otherwise simple game so hard. But you have a reason not to lose now.

“You ready, Lapis?” Amethyst asked. You hum out a response as you lift your fist over the tree stump between the two of you. The stump that held the gem of your ire.

Just thinking about it made your body heat up in rage. The Amethyst sitting on the stump was lucky you only poofed her at that moment, with how scared Peridot looked with that monster approaching her. You were all lucky Blue Zircon found you and Amethyst when she did.

Amethyst put her fist out in front of yours and starts the count. This is where the mental games truly come into play. Because she knows that you always throw scissors. You know that she knows, though-

“Two.” -But you know she knows that you know that she knows that you know that she knows.

“Three!”

You both throw out. You made your decision and stuck with scissors. Amethyst…

She chose rock.

“Baah,” You grunt out as she chuckles lowly to herself.

“You always choose scissors, dude.” You shrug and cross your arms. It’s not like she’s wrong. Doesn’t mean you can’t pout a little, though.

“Fiiine. You get the first hit.” As you say this, you take a step back away from the stump next to the other watchers.

Along with you and Amethyst, Zircon and Peridot were watching as things unfolded.

Zircon wanted to be there. She wanted to see the gem that was tormenting Peridot finally be taken care of. She even provided the bat that Amethyst was using.

Peridot, though, seemed a bit more shaken. After what’s happened today, it’s understandable. You all still felt that it would be a good idea to have her here, though. It would be good for her to see she was finally safe from the Amethyst that was plaguing her.

Amethyst wound back and took a couple practice swings in the air with the bat. Zircon piped up from beside you, “It’ll be better to get this over with quickly.”

Amethyst nods as she raises the bat above her head. It takes a moment before you see her grip shift on the bat. You close your eyes and prepare for the crash.

“Wait!”

Your eyes pop open to see Peridot jump in front of Amethyst. Luckily, she hadn’t started her swing yet. Peridot grabbed onto her arm and the purple gem lowered it, sweating. “What?”

Peridot looked away at the question, which results in her looking at you. You can see her hands shaking and her brows knit together. “W-we shouldn’t.”

What?

Why shouldn’t you? With how she scared Peridot? With how she threatened her?

You step forward, your grip tightening on the hammer in your hand. “Why the hell not?”

It must have come out more harshly than you thought, because Peridot flinches back towards Amethyst. She doesn’t have to be scared of you, though. You wouldn’t hurt her. Steven and Peridot helped you out of that.

“Lapis-” Amethyst starts, but Peridot interrupts her.

“It just doesn’t feel right. Let’s just bubble her, okay?”

Bubble her? But then she could get out again. “But she hurt you.”

You notice Amethyst squeezing her hand as she speaks up. “Yeah, but-”

“If we don’t do this she’s just going to hurt you again!” You shout out. You can feel Zircon watching you. You can feel it just as you hear waves before Peridot speaks.

“Not if we just bubble her and forget about it!”

Except she will. You know she will. This isn’t a corrupt gem like Steven talks about. This one knew what she was doing.

But why would Peridot save her? This wasn’t like when you started living together. This Amethyst only hurt her.

Peridot is just too nice.

… But sometimes, you have to be mean.

You look away. You can’t look at her as you say it. “Peridot, you don’t have to stick up for her-”

You hear a tremble in her voice as she interrupts, “I’m not!”

Zircon steps up to stand next to Peridot, placing a hand on her shoulder. Maybe she can talk some sense into her. She has, apparently, known Peridot the longest.

“Shh, little gem. It’s fine. We’ll follow your decision.”

Looks like you’re alone in this. Your grip on the hammer tightens so much you swear you hear the wood crack. You can’t let this gem hurt her anymore.

The sound of waves washes over you as you step up to the stump. You ignore how it seems to grow louder as you raise the hammer up. You’re doing this for her.

The hammer comes down and the crack that sounds reminds you of a deep, haunting laughter.

The hammer drops out of your hand and onto the grass instantly.

The Amethyst is no longer on the stump, but floating in a lime-green bubble. A bubble that your hammer never touched.

You pull Peridot from around the bubble and look at her face. There are tears in her eyes, but it’s hard to see them through her cracked visor. The cracked visor with a new hole in it. A hole over her newly cracked gem.

You scream out and hug her to you as you fall to your knees. How could you do this? How could you hurt her?

The same way you hurt everyone.

You hear voices, but they might as well be far away. She was nice to you. She made you be better. She helped you change.

And you hurt her. You never changed. You’re just as bad as that-

The thought is interrupted by a wet pain flashing against your cheek. You look up to see a purple blob. “Lapis, I need you to focus.”

You wipe the tears from your eyes and look around. You don’t know how long you were out of it, but it was apparently long enough for Zircon to disappear. You look back up at Amethyst and almost break down again.

“Amethyst, I… I-”

Amethyst kneels down in front of you. Her voice sounds hard when she speaks. “I know. We’ll have a talk about that, but right now I need to see Peridot.”

She holds her arms open and you hand her to her. The purple gem looks over the smaller one, looking for any irregularities. The silence is almost crushing before you speak up.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you didn’t.” She interrupts while moving Peridots arm. “But it happened. Just like it happened with Pearl.”

“Pearl?” What does Pearl have to do with this? Did Pearl break a gem?

“It’s a long story. But it happened because Pearl went behind our backs, just like you tried to.” She sighs and turns to face you. “You hurt us, Lapis. Not just Peri, all of us. And you’re gonna have to face that.”

You look down at the ground. She’s right, of course. You really messed up. “I’m sorry.” It comes out weak. Scared.

You hear a rustle as she stands back up. “I know you are. Peridot probably knows too. But this is something that’ll take some time to get over.” The sound of footsteps and a hand comes into view. “Now, come on. Let’s head back to the barn.”

You take her hand, though you don’t really understand. “The barn?”

She nods as she scoops up the green gem. “Yup, the barn. I sent Zircon to get Steven, and he’s gonna meet us there.” She carefully switches Peridot over to you. “It would be easier if she wasn’t rattled, but it could have been worse.”

You nod. You don’t even want to think about it being worse. “Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

“For what you did? Of course she will. Peri’s just become that kind of gem. I’d worry more about Zircon.”

Your face falls. “Oh no.” You had forgotten about the blue gem in your worries.

Amethyst snorts out a laugh. She slaps your back and starts walking. “Come on, you can start making up for everything by carrying her back.”

You nod and hold Peridot close as you follow behind her. You have a lot to make up for.

You just hope you can make up with everyone.